


And I Will Be Your Shield, My Love

by Viridescence



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, auror!fic, genre:ewe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-21
Updated: 2008-09-21
Packaged: 2017-11-02 21:50:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viridescence/pseuds/Viridescence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why did you step in front of a killing curse for me, Malfoy?” Harry asked.</p><p>“I just didn’t want you to die,” Malfoy said. “And that’s all that is really important.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I Will Be Your Shield, My Love

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of my old H/D fics that I originally posted on September 21, 2008 under my old LJ name, silver_ariel, and I'm just now getting around to posting it here. This story was written for the 2007 Eros Affair fest, for the cheque: “Draco to Harry: I promise to take you away for a dirty weekend.” It was a year in the making: I was blocked for a long time (I have three abandoned drafts to show for it), and had multiple RL events that pulled me away from writing, including work overtime, family medical emergencies, and job interviews in Europe. Then when the story finally began to work, it developed plot and turned into a 30,000+ word monster. Thank you to my betas, dacro, nefernat, flamewarrior, lusiology, lilithilien, and okydoky. I am endlessly grateful for all of your assistance, insights, and guidance.
> 
> Warnings: violence, secondary character death, male/male oral and anal sex, rimming  
> Canon: My copy of Deathly Hallows mysteriously has the last few pages missing, so I have no idea what this “epilogue” is (i.e., EWE).  
> Genre: Auror Fic, Post-Hogwarts  
> Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, and everything you recognise in the Harry Potter universe belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Brothers, Scholastic Books, Bloomsbury Books, among others. No harm is intended and no profit is being made. I simply love this universe so much that I have to play in it myself.

**And I Will Be Your Shield, My Love**

“An owl came for you,” Malfoy said when Harry walked back into their office. “Letter’s on your desk.”

“Thanks.” Harry set Malfoy’s coffee down on the report he was writing and shut the door, sparing a fleeting moment’s gratitude that Auror Headquarters had been upgraded to include offices with doors. It made buckling down and getting to work much easier.

Malfoy gave an annoyed snort as he moved the mug aside. “Arse,” he muttered half-sarcastically.

Harry gave him an unrepentant grin as he sat down at his desk and sipped at his own coffee. Malfoy liked his coffee black, but Harry could never get past the bitterness. He preferred his white with plenty of sugar. “Coffee is just your milk and sugar delivery device,” Malfoy had said to him once, after watching Harry spend a solid three minutes faffing about with his coffee until it was just right. “Why not just drink sweetened milk?”

“Because, Malfoy,” Harry had replied as if he were speaking to a five-year-old, “I like the milk and sugar _in_ the coffee. It’s the right mixture of bold, sweet, and smooth.”

Malfoy had smirked at him, amused. “I bet you only drink the fruity cocktails with little umbrellas in them, too,” he’d said.

“Says the pot to the kettle,” Harry had retorted. “I saw you at the social last summer, sitting all by yourself with a table full of empty Mai Tai glasses, twirling a paper umbrella in your fingers.”

Malfoy’s face had flushed slightly, something that Harry never tired of seeing. “They were the drink special that night, Potter, not that it matters. We were talking about you and your strange coffee fetish.”

“Coffee doesn’t turn me on, Malfoy, so it’s not a fetish. Getting off on spanking, now that’s a fetish.”

Malfoy had pinked even more then, and abruptly ended the conversation. Harry loved being able to beat Malfoy at banter. It didn’t happen often, so his victories were all the sweeter because of it.

Harry set his mug down, smiling at the memory, and turned his attention to the letter on his desk. “It’s from Ron,” he said happily as he opened it.

“Mmm-hmm…” Draco didn’t look up from his report, his quill scratching across the parchment. “Figured as much. When is he coming back?”

Harry was reading the letter and didn’t answer for a minute. “Not for another few weeks, at least. They want to stay with Hermione’s parents a bit longer.”

Hermione and Ron had just had their first child, a daughter named Rowan, and they were spending their parental leave in Melbourne with Hermione’s parents. Mr and Mrs Granger had decided to stay in Australia after their memories were restored. “Hermione and the baby are doing well,” Harry announced.

“Lovely,” Malfoy said dryly.

Harry rolled his eyes. Malfoy may have changed a lot since school, but he still didn’t get on well with Ron or Hermione. There was no longer open hostility between them; their mutual dislike had cooled to polite indifference.

But Harry got on with Malfoy just fine. He rather had to, seeing as they had been partnered together temporarily for the past few months while Ron was gone on his paternity leave. But even before they started working together on a regular basis, Harry was one of the few people who seemed to understand Malfoy. So much had happened to them and between them during the war that Harry no longer disliked Malfoy, despite the fact that he still could be an arrogant arse at times. In fact, while they weren't exactly friends, Harry did like Malfoy, the quiet and determined person he’d become after the war.

The door to their office opened then, revealing Kingsley Shacklebolt, who was holding a manila folder. “Morning, gentlemen,” he greeted in his deep rumbling voice.

Harry and Malfoy both stood. “Minister Shacklebolt, sir,” Malfoy said, and Harry could detect a faint hint of surprise in his voice.

Shacklebolt shut the door and conjured himself a chair. He then handed the folder to Harry. “Have a seat. We’ve much to discuss.”

Draco gave Harry a penetrating gaze, but his eyes quickly returned to Shacklebolt as he sat back down in his chair. “What can we help you with, Minister?” Harry asked.

Kingsley scoffed. “No need for formalities, now. It’s Kingsley to you both when we’re in private.”

Harry grinned. Malfoy merely nodded.

“How are you two getting on?” Kingsley asked.

Harry was surprised, and he saw a fleeting look of shock across Malfoy’s face before his usual calm demeanour returned.

“Fine, sir,” Malfoy answered.

“Yes, just fine,” Harry agreed. It was true. Malfoy was very good at his job, and they’d been working together very well, actually. Harry would even go so far as to say they were friendly, though not close.

“Good, I’m glad. You two work well together. I was impressed with your last case. No one else has ever solved an abduction so quickly.”

Harry smiled. The daughter of the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister had been kidnapped in an attempt to get certain prisoners released from Azkaban, and Draco and Harry had found her within twelve hours. It wasn’t a very difficult rescue, but then again, the kidnapping had been perpetrated by the Crabbe family, and they had never been blessed with an abundance of intelligence. Still, it was an accomplishment that he and Draco were both proud of.

“At the moment, you two are the best team we have, so you get the job.” Kingsley gestured to the folder in Harry’s hands. “We’ve got a tip on Thorfinn Rowle’s location,” he said.

Fire surged in Harry’s veins. Rowle, an enormous and brutal Death Eater, was responsible for numerous deaths and extensive damage during the Battle of Hogwarts. It was rumoured that he was behind the explosion that killed Fred Weasley. Rowle had managed to evade capture for over five years, during which time he continued to kill Muggles and Muggle-borns as often as he could.

He also was a part of the pureblood supremacist group known as the Black Knights, who mostly consisted of former Death Eaters and Death Eater sympathisers. Immortality had been Voldemort’s pursuit; the Black Knights advocated removing Muggles and non-pureblood ideals from Wizarding society, as well as promoting the use of the Dark Arts. Rowle, one of the few remaining Death Eaters left to be captured, was at the top of the Ministry’s most wanted list.

Harry had quite personal reasons to want to capture Rowle. Fred had been as much his brother as Ron was. He leant forward and looked Shacklebolt straight in the eye. “I’m going,” he said.

“I know you are,” Kingsley agreed, understanding evident on his face. “You and Malfoy are going to Liverpool, on surveillance. You will determine if he is indeed there. The report indicated that he was alone. He’s known to be fairly solitary, but it’s likely that supporters are nearby. Arrest and detain him if it is safe to do so, but you’re not to take any unnecessary risks. Your job is first and foremost to determine the validity of our intelligence and locate him, not to capture him. We want him alive for questioning; we need to know the extent of their operation. Call for backup immediately if there is trouble.”

Harry nodded. “When do we leave?”

“Tonight.” Kingsley gestured again to the folder now on Harry’s desk. “You and Malfoy read up on that, and join me in my office in two hours.”

Harry nodded and opened the folder. He handed part of the file to Malfoy, who stood and reached over to take it. “See you shortly,” he said.

Kingsley nodded and let himself out.

  
**::**   


“Isn’t it odd that the Minister for Magic is the one giving us our orders?” Malfoy asked. They were on their fifth stop in the Liverpool area, setting detection spells where Rowle had been spotted. “Usually the Minister isn’t so involved in Auror affairs. He’d talk to the department head, but to come and talk to us on our own?”

Harry shrugged as he cast a tracking spell at the entrance to Fazakerley railway station. “He was an Auror himself, before. He’s always stayed personally involved with the Aurors from the moment he took office, more than previous Ministers. Besides, Robards is still in Spain, Lashley’s on holiday, and Savage is busy with the newest trainees. And, Kingsley likes us.”

“Likes you, you mean. I’m just your partner _du jour_.” Malfoy said this matter-of-factly, without a trace of bitterness.

Harry stopped what he was doing and turned to face Draco. “That’s not true,” he said.

Malfoy merely raised an eyebrow at him. “Really.” It was clear from his tone that he didn't believe Harry for one second.

“When we were assigned together, he took me aside and tried to give me a lecture about not judging you by your surname,” Harry started.

“What do you mean, tried to lecture you?”

“He was starting a rather long-winded speech about how you had more than proved yourself worthy since the war, how you’re not your father, and how he didn’t want to hear about me giving you any trouble. I saved myself quite a bit of time by agreeing with him right away. Reminded him that I testified in your defence and that we saved each other’s lives.”

Malfoy eyed him warily. “Do you really agree with him, or did you just say so to avoid a lecture?”

“Of course I agree with him,” Harry replied, surprised at the question. “I’ve felt that way since the war. Isn’t that obvious by now?”

Malfoy gaped at him. Harry found it rather amusing. He liked seeing Malfoy so open and decided to push it a bit further. “I told him I’d be honoured to work with you.”

Draco continued to stare at Harry, gobsmacked, for a long moment. Harry tried not to snigger.

“Well…” Malfoy said, his face pinking.

At that moment, Harry’s wand buzzed in his hand, startling him. “A ward’s been tripped,” he said. He flicked his wand and an image of the location appeared.

Malfoy looked at it, his face a picture of concentration. “The house in Norris Green,” he whispered, then looked up at Harry, his grey eyes intense.

Without saying a word, Malfoy pointed his wand at Harry’s feet. From the slight tingle, Harry knew his footsteps had just been silenced. Malfoy then cast the same spell at his own feet. At the same time, Harry cast a disillusionment spell on Malfoy, then on himself. They had this down to a routine.

“Meet you at the corner,” Harry said, knowing that Draco knew exactly the corner he was referring to.

The dark shape that was Malfoy nodded, then turned on the spot and disappeared. Harry followed a second later. He arrived next to Malfoy underneath a large tree, just beyond the glow from the nearby lamp post. Reaching into his pocket, Harry withdrew Ron’s Deluminator and clicked it. The lamp post went out, as did the rest of the lights on the street. 

Harry moved swiftly along the pavement, Malfoy a few steps behind him. The front gate to the house hung open. Harry cast a series of spells looking for wards and found only his own, set earlier that evening. He quickly disabled the ward and slipped past the gate into the garden, Malfoy at his back.

Rowle had been seen leaving this house several times over the past week, but that didn’t mean he was the only occupant, or that he was even here at the moment. They needed to determine exactly who was inside. The darkness shifted beside him, and Harry felt Malfoy’s detection spell.

“Two people inside,” came Malfoy’s low voice, barely a whisper. “One male, one female.”

“Is it Rowle?” Harry asked.

“Can’t tell,” Malfoy returned. “There are privacy wards up.”

“We’ll have to go in,” Harry breathed. “Be prepared to call for support.”

Malfoy had the appearance of crumbling concrete at the moment—this house was in the area of Norris Green where poorly-built concrete houses were being condemned—but he was close enough that Harry could feel his heat. He nodded.

Harry began the process of dismantling the privacy ward. It didn’t take long; it was a fairly simple ward. After ensuring there weren’t any other spells guarding the door, Harry opened it with a faint click.

Malfoy went in first. Harry followed, stepping silently through a cluttered kitchen.

There were thumping sounds coming from up the stairs.

“Still can’t tell who it is,” Malfoy breathed. “There’s another set of wards up—scrambling wards,” he added after a second.

That explained why they could hear noises but were unable to get a fix on who was up there.

Malfoy moved up the stairs with Harry a step behind. He stopped just short of the landing. From here, it was clear that a couple in the room down the hall were having rather vigorous sex.

“Fuck yes!” came the woman’s voice. “Fuck me! Harder!”

This was followed by a deep masculine groan. “Take that, bitch!” The thumping increased in tempo, and the woman began shrieking in a staccato, her voice reaching a ridiculously high octave with each thrust.

“Sounds like a loving relationship,” Malfoy said dryly, his voice quiet.

“She’s faking,” Harry said, trying not to laugh.

Malfoy gave a soft snort, and Harry could picture the look on his face, wryly amused, even though he couldn’t see it past the dark and the disillusionment at the moment. “The scrambling ward is here,” Malfoy whispered, pointing at the top step. “It’s not very strong. Whoever set it wasn’t being too cautious. He hasn’t made much effort to protect himself.”

“If it is Rowle, then he doesn’t seem too concerned about his security here. That means he’s overconfident,” Harry said, and began dismantling the ward.

As soon as it was down, Malfoy cast another detection spell for magical signatures. “It’s Rowle. The woman’s a Muggle,” he reported.

The shrieks and groans reached a peak. “Yes! Yes!” the woman screamed, and then her voice degraded into a long, screeching wail.

Harry again had to stifle a laugh. The woman sounded like she was in a bad porno film.

Beside him, Malfoy gave a low chuckle. “Obviously faking,” he agreed. “Let’s call for backup.”

Harry thought clearly about the message he wanted to send, then cast his Patronus. The stag took off down the stairs and disappeared through the wall. It would take a few minutes for the message to reach the Ministry and for reinforcements to arrive.

“Let’s go back down—” Harry started, but the door down the hall opened and the light flipped on. Rowle stood in the doorway, stark naked. The blond man was hung like a horse, his cock still half-hard and glistening, but that wasn’t all that surprising given the man’s size. He was six and a half feet tall, barrel-chested, with hugely muscular arms and legs. The man probably spent every spare moment when he wasn’t killing—or fucking—working out. Rowle stopped short, staring at them. Even though they were disillusioned, they were clearly visible.

“Ministry filth!” Rowle shouted, then dashed back into the bedroom, slamming the door.

“Fuck!” Malfoy cursed. In unison, they darted after him. If he Disapparated before they could get a tracking charm on him, all their work would be for naught. They flung the door open just in time to see Rowle swallow something out of a small bottle. His wand was already in his hand.

Harry felt Malfoy cast a tracking spell at Rowle, but he didn’t have time to determine if it worked, because the woman took in the two man-shaped figures that looked like the door and wallpaper and began screeching in terror. “Aliens!” she screamed and scrambled off the bed, her naked breasts bouncing wildly.

Harry cast a _Stupefy_ at her, hoping to get her out of the pending battle, but Rowle was faster. With a flash of green light, she fell to the floor, dead.

“Stupefy!” came Malfoy’s voice, and Harry watched the spell lance towards Rowle, who did nothing to deflect it. The spell hit him squarely in the chest, but nothing happened. Rowle turned to face them, his face a triumphant sneer. “Nice try, scum,” he growled.

Harry was stunned for a split second, then sent a nonverbal _Petrificus_. Again, it hit Rowle straight on, but nothing happened.

Rowle’s face lit up in malicious glee, and he began casting spells in rapid succession. Harry defended as quickly as he could, throwing up shields in front of himself and Malfoy. Beside him, Malfoy took the offensive, rapidly firing off curses.

 _Stupefy, Incarcerous, Impedimenta, Immobulus, Levicorpus_ , and even _Sectumsempra_ flew from their wands. Spell after spell hit Rowle and did nothing. He wasn’t even bothering to defend himself. But he couldn’t walk through their shields, and while that made no sense, Harry didn’t have time to think about it. They danced around each other, Rowle trying to penetrate their defences and Harry and Malfoy trying desperately to do something, anything, that would take Rowle down. His wand a blur, Harry couldn’t help but think that Rowle hadn’t tried to Disapparate because he _wanted_ to take out two Aurors. He was confident he could win the fight. And the way things were going, Rowle was probably right. Harry had never before duelled someone who was immune to spells, and Rowle had a distinct advantage.

“Malfoy, you fucking traitor!” Rowle howled, and advanced towards Harry’s partner, who was no longer disillusioned.

 _Fuck, his shield is down_ , Harry thought, then cast another Protego in front of Malfoy. Rowle slammed into it, bouncing backward with an ugly snarl. He spun to face Harry, his face thunderous, and cast a Reducto so powerful that Harry’s shield spell exploded. Harry was flung backward by the force of it into the wall. His head hit the door frame, _hard_ , and he was disoriented for a moment, his vision spinning and fading. Everything went dark for a brief second, and then he was _dizzy_. His knees buckled, magic buzzed over him as he slid to the floor, and Harry felt the disillusionment lift. He watched the action in the room, feeling dazed and detached as pain built up in his head.

“The famous Harry Potter!” Rowle shouted with delight. “How kind of the Ministry to present me with the chance to avenge the Dark Lord! Avada—”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Malfoy yelled and launched himself at Rowle, throwing himself directly in front of Rowle’s wand.

Harry’s heart lurched as Malfoy tackled Rowle, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe. Malfoy had just leapt in front of a killing curse, for _him_ , and Harry couldn’t process it, couldn’t make sense of it. He couldn’t think; he could only watch, horrified.

Rowle was surprised, but he managed to roll with the attack. The naked Death Eater was taller than Malfoy, and easily fifty pounds heavier. Rowle shifted on his feet and used Malfoy’s momentum to throw him into the wall, shattering a mirror. Malfoy gave a pained grunt.

Harry’s mind tried to come back to him then. He scrambled to his feet, then promptly fell to his knees and vomited. The retching made the aching in his head throb painfully with each spasm, and he moaned as he coughed up the last of the bile.

Rowle was laughing hysterically. Harry looked up and saw that he had Malfoy pinned. Rowle was holding Draco off the floor and against the wall with only one hand wrapped around Draco’s throat, his other hand stabbing his wand into Draco’s temple. Draco’s feet were dangling, kicking ineffectually at Rowle, and his lips were turning blue.

Harry’s mind wasn’t quite working. He daren’t cast a spell, afraid it would bounce off of Rowle or hit Malfoy. A sharp panic rose in his chest—he had no idea what to do.

“The blood traitor and the Saviour! Two gifts for me!” Rowle crowed, then looked over his shoulder at Harry, chuckling.

As soon as Rowle’s attention turned to Harry, Malfoy plunged a long shard of mirror between Rowle’s ribs.

Rowle gave a loud hiss, his eyes bulging. He turned back to face Malfoy, blood spurting from his chest, his knees buckling. Malfoy wrenched the wand away from his face as Rowle sagged, and then they both fell to the floor. Draco gasped and wheezed, his hand at his throat. He coughed then, and spat up blood.

Rowle made a few more gurgles, then was still.

Harry stared at Rowle and the large shard of mirror sticking out of his chest. Blood was pooling beneath him, seeping into the carpet.

“You okay?” Malfoy asked after a long moment, his voice a croak. Harry blinked. Malfoy had climbed to his knees and was leaning against the wall, a dazed expression on his face. Blood was spilling from his hand; the shard of mirror must have cut him when he stabbed Rowle.

“I think so,” Harry managed, fighting off another wave of nausea. The room wobbled a bit, and Harry fell back onto his arse, holding his head.

Footsteps thundered up the stairs then, and three Aurors erupted into the room, wands at the ready.

“Potter, Malfoy, you two okay?” Celia Warren barked as she surveyed the room.

Draco seemed to pull himself together. “Concussion,” he rasped, pointing at Harry with his injured hand, which he then appeared to notice. He drew it close to his face to examine and seemed to realise just how badly it was sliced open. “Shit,” he said, then pointed his wand at his palm and cast a nonverbal spell to stop the blood flow.

The second Auror, Erik Williamson, moved over to Draco and helped him to his feet. Malfoy winced and took a shallow, rattling breath.

“You’ve hurt more than just your hand, Malfoy,” Williamson said.

“Rowle’s dead,” the third Auror, Colm MacDougal, growled from where he was crouched above the body, his shoulders tense. “Bloody fuck! Lashley’s gonna be furious.”

“What about the woman?” Warren cut in.

“She’s a Muggle,” Harry said, his brain finally providing him with something to contribute. “Rowle killed her.”

“What a mess,” Warren said. “We’ll have to come up with a cover story. But let’s get you two to St. Mungo’s first. You two take Malfoy and Potter,” she instructed her teammates. “I’ve got to get Magical Law Enforcement here to start cleaning this up.”

MacDougal stepped over Rowle’s body towards Harry. “I’ll take yeh Side-Along,” he said, reaching under Harry’s arm to lift him to his feet gruffly. “Don’t want yeh splinchin’ yourself.”

Harry’s vision threatened to fade to black again as he was hoisted upright. He managed to stay conscious, but he felt very disconnected from the situation. He looked over at Malfoy, who was gazing at him with concern. “See you there,” Draco whispered.

A curious feeling twisted in Harry’s gut, and then he was compressed into darkness as MacDougal Apparated him away.

  


**::**  


Harry opened his eyes to find Shacklebolt standing next to his bed. He’d been expecting a Healer, not the Minister for Magic. He sat up a little straighter.

“Don’t look so surprised, Harry. I might be the Minister, but I still consider you a friend. How are you feeling?” Kingsley asked.

Harry thought for a moment. His mind felt fuzzy, slow. But he wasn’t in any pain, and he didn’t feel like he was going to retch, so that was an improvement. “Okay,” he answered. “Thanks, Kingsley. How’s Malfoy?”

“He’ll be fine,” Kingsley answered. “His hand is healing up nicely, though he will be re-growing tendons tonight. He broke a couple of ribs when Rowle put him into the wall, and his larynx was nearly crushed. But he’ll be good as new come tomorrow. He’s down the hall.”

Harry nodded, feeling incredibly relieved. Now that he wasn’t reeling from the concussion, the night’s events seemed even more surreal. Malfoy had thrown himself in front of a killing curse for Harry. Harry trusted Malfoy enough to be his partner, he knew that Malfoy was good at his job, but he would have _never_ predicted that Malfoy would risk his life for Harry’s in such a... _Gryffindor_ fashion. It just wasn’t in his nature.

Kingsley interrupted Harry’s thoughts. “We’ll need to get Pensieve memories from both of you for the internal review, when you’ve recovered. Robards and Lashley both will be back tomorrow; I’m calling them home early, and they’ll take over the investigation. I’m sorry, Harry, department policy requires that when anyone dies at the hand of an Auror, the Aurors involved must be suspended with pay for the duration of the investigation. I’ve already informed Draco. The two of you are on administrative leave for a week while we review the situation.”

“It was self-defence!” Harry protested immediately. “He had no other option!”

Kingsley raised his hand, asking Harry to stop. “I believe you, Harry. I believe Malfoy. From what we know of the situation already, I’m sure that you will both be cleared of any wrongdoing. This is just a formality.”

Harry swallowed. He knew he had nothing to worry about personally, save a lot of piss-taking over being knocked out, but the thought that Malfoy might get into trouble for saving both of their lives made his stomach squirm with distress.

“So, tell me what happened,” Kingsley said.

Harry recounted his experience in as much detail as he could remember. “Our spells did nothing to him. They didn’t bounce off or deflect. They hit him square, but it was like we were flashing lights at him. He didn’t even defend against them.”

Harry frowned. “How could he have managed that?” he asked, more to himself than to Kingsley.

“There are rumours of certain Dark Arts spells or potions that can render you temporarily immune to magic,” Kingsley said thoughtfully. “But I’ve never heard of anything that actually worked—it’s all been theory and wishful thinking.”

“He took a potion!” Harry gasped, remembering watching Rowle swallow something out of a small bottle. “He took it just as Malfoy and I entered the room. The bottle fell to the floor, I think.” Unease pooled in his gut.

Kingsley’s face hardened. “This is bad. We need to find out what it was that made him invincible, so we can come up with a counter for it. I’ll have the Healers look for the presence of a potion during the autopsy.”

There was a long moment of grim silence as they reflected on the seriousness of the situation. Kingsley was right; this was _terrible_ news.

“What about the woman?” Harry asked. “Rowle killed her almost immediately after we showed up. Probably to make sure she couldn’t tell us anything about him.”

“Her name was Elizabeth Smithers,” Kingsley said, his voice sad. “She was a prostitute. It provides a rather convenient excuse—we can pass off her death to the Muggle authorities as at the hands of a violent client, who was then killed by officers who tried to intervene. She did have some bruises already that came from rough sex, so it won’t be that hard to make the story believable. And Norris Green is known for gang violence and criminal activity, so that just adds to the credibility. It’s terribly unfortunate, but she’ll become just another statistic from a dangerous part of the city.”

Harry sighed and closed his eyes. She had been a beautiful woman who had the bad luck to take a Death Eater into her bed.

“Warren will be by tomorrow to collect your Pensieve memory, once you’ve been cleared by the Healers,” Kingsley said. “Other than that and the hearing, which we’ll schedule when we’ve concluded the investigation, you have a week off with pay, so do something fun with your time off.”

Harry nodded. He felt terribly tired all of a sudden, but not sleepy. Whatever potion he’d been fed for his concussion seemed to be working, and he slumped back onto the pillows. He doubted he’d be able to fall asleep.

“Get some rest, Potter.” Kingsley patted him on the shoulder. “You deserve it.”

“Good night, Kingsley,” Harry replied.

Kingsley left, and Harry was alone with his thoughts. For some reason, he couldn’t get the memory of watching Malfoy leap in front of Rowle’s wand out of his mind. That and the intense look of concern on his face before Harry was Apparated to St. Mungo’s, when Malfoy was clearly more severely injured. “Why, Draco?” he whispered aloud.

  


**::**  


The door to Harry’s room clicked shut, jolting him awake. He hadn’t been sleeping, exactly, but the hospital copy of _Medical Alchemy_ just wasn’t doing much to keep him alert.

Malfoy chuckled softly. “Sorry I startled you,” he said, leaning against the door frame. His voice was still a bit hoarse, but sounded much better. The bruises around his neck had faded, but were still visible.

“It’s all right,” Harry replied, tossing the magazine onto the bedside table. “I’m supposed to be up anyway.” Concussions were easier to treat in the wizarding world, but still required the patient to stay awake for a while.

Malfoy nodded. “How are you doing?” he asked, pulling up a chair to the bed so he could sit down.

“I’m tired,” Harry answered. “I’m not feeling so disoriented any more, but my mind still feels a bit fuzzy.”

“And this is different, how?” Draco smirked.

“Arse,” Harry retorted. “Not fair, you taking advantage of my condition. I’m not up for the repartee, and you know it.”

“It’s entirely within my character to exploit your weakness,” Malfoy laughed. “I don’t know why you’re surprised.” He leant back into the chair, resting his hands in his lap. His right was bandaged.

“How is your hand?” Harry asked, suddenly remembering seeing the blood flowing from Draco’s palm onto the floor.

Malfoy lifted his hand and looked at it, examining the wrapping. “Better,” he answered. “The Healer said I was lucky that I didn’t slice a couple of fingers off. They had to re-grow a lot of the connective tissue. I’ll be fine in a few days.”

“Good,” Harry said. He’d heard as much from Kingsley, but it was better to hear it from Malfoy himself.

“Has Kingsley been in to see you yet?” Draco asked.

“Yes. Told me we’re on leave.”

Malfoy nodded. “They were really disappointed that Rowle died. They needed to question him.”

“I don’t know what we could have done differently,” Harry said. “We ran out of options the moment he swallowed that potion. What do you know about it?”

Malfoy frowned, considering. “Not enough. As far as I was aware, a potion that could render you immune to spells was only theoretical. But that was about six years ago. Obviously, someone was able to perfect it.”

“Probably not Rowle,” Harry said.

“Exactly. He never was a whiz at potions. He was better at Charms and brute strength. Had to have been someone else, someone with a Mastery in potions, or mastery-level knowledge.”

“So who among the Black Knights meets those criteria?” Harry asked.

“That’s just the problem,” Malfoy replied. “There isn’t any known Death Eater alive who has that level of skill in potions, not that we’re aware of, at least.”

“And we can’t work on the case until next week,” Harry frowned, relaxing his head back against the pillows. “I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I,” Malfoy said. “But I haven’t had any time off in ages, so I intend to enjoy it as much as possible.”

“What do you plan on doing?” Harry asked, very curious now. He had always wondered what Malfoy did in his spare time.

“I suppose it depends on how the investigation goes,” Malfoy answered. “If it takes all week, I’ll have to stick around, so I’ll probably go and visit Mother at the Manor and spend a lot of time on the Quidditch pitch. But if the investigation wraps up quickly, then I’m off to my house in Nice for a few days.”

“Wow, that sounds really nice, Malfoy,” Harry said.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Pathetic.”

Harry snickered. “Well, it does. Both of those ideas do. I haven’t had any time to play Quidditch in I don’t know how long, and I’ve never been to the French Riviera. I won’t have much to do, with Ron and Hermione in Australia and Teddy with Andromeda in Germany.” He suddenly missed Teddy very much, but knew that the seven-year-old was having a brilliant time exploring all the old German castles with his Grandmum.

“What about the youngest Weasley?” Malfoy asked, far too casually.

Harry tensed. The reasons for his and Ginny’s break up were very private, and Harry didn’t talk about it much with anyone because he didn’t want his personal life splashed across the newspapers any more than it was already. But the tone of Malfoy’s voice indicated that he wasn’t looking for gossip. Harry wasn’t quite sure how to handle it.

“She’s in Romania with her brother Charlie,” Harry replied after a moment. “We haven’t been together since shortly after the war.”

Malfoy’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Harry shrugged and decided to change the subject. “Why did you step in front of a killing curse for me, Malfoy?” he asked, finally voicing the question that had been burning his insides ever since he watched Malfoy do it.

Malfoy paled, then blushed. He looked down at his hands and picked at the bandage. “You saved my life once when you didn’t have to,” he said after a long moment. 

Harry’s heart thumped in his chest. Malfoy was _lying_. He had worked with the man long enough to be able to tell when he was bluffing, and every instinct in his body was shouting at him that Malfoy wasn’t being completely honest. “Bollocks. You know there’s no life debt between us, hasn’t been since you helped me with my Potions segment in Auror training. We’re even.”

Malfoy stood and walked to the door. “I know, Harry,” he said. “You’re my partner. Somehow I doubt my career as an Auror would last very long if Harry Potter died on a mission with me. It wasn’t entirely for your benefit.”

Harry blinked. He didn’t often hear his given name out of Malfoy’s mouth, and it brought him up short. His next words about how Malfoy had more than made up for his actions in the war and had publicly restored honour to his family name fluttered out of his head, unspoken.

“I just didn’t want you to die,” Malfoy continued. “And that’s all that is really important.”

And then he was gone, leaving Harry staring dumbfounded at the open door. Malfoy hadn’t been lying that time, but he was definitely not telling the whole truth. And more than ever, Harry wanted to know what that truth was.

  


**::**  


Harry tossed the vegetables into his frying pan and stirred them with the sliced chicken absent-mindedly. He hadn’t been able to focus much all day, and didn’t know if it was due to the previous night’s concussion or the fact that he couldn’t stop thinking about Malfoy.

Thankfully, cooking didn’t involve much thinking. Satisfied with his meal, he turned off the burner and took down a plate from the cupboard. And nearly dropped it when he heard the whoosh of the Floo.

Harry spun around to face the kitchen fireplace, and his face split into a wide grin. “Ginny!”

“Hi, Harry!” she grinned as she dusted the soot from her robes. “Sorry for just showing up uninvited, but I was home to visit Mum and thought I’d stop in on my way back and surprise you. Are you busy?”

“No,” Harry answered as he embraced her. She was still warm from the Floo. “I was just sitting down to dinner. Have you eaten?”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you kidding? I was just at the Burrow. I’m absolutely stuffed.”

Harry laughed. “Well, you’re welcome to join me, if you don’t mind me eating. I’m starved.” It had been a gruelling day; after _finally_ being cleared to leave St. Mungo’s, he’d spent hours giving his statement, answering questions, and wondering about Malfoy. He’d be going back tomorrow to go over his Pensieve memory.

“Wine?” he asked.

“Yeah, okay,” she replied as she sat down at the table.

Harry opened a bottle of Pinot Grigio and poured her a glass. “How’s Charlie doing?”

“Great. We just got in a young Peruvian Opaleye; he’s so excited.”

“I’m sure,” Harry laughed, then returned to the stove to collect his dinner. “What about you? How are you doing in Romania?”

“It’s not home, but I do like it there,” she said, soft affection in her voice.

Harry scraped his meal onto his plate. “Okay, Gin, spill.” He grinned at her as he sat down at the table. “Who is he?”

She sipped at her wine and beamed at him. “His name is Andrei. He works with us at the dragon preserve.”

“A local boy?”

She nodded and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I bet you adore his accent,” he teased between bites. “And I’m sure he’s good looking.”

She snickered. “Yes, and yes. Sandy brown hair, blue eyes, burlier than Charlie.”

Harry grinned at her. “I was always too skinny for you, wasn’t I?”

“Shut it, you were just fine. Are just fine.” She eyed him appreciatively over her wineglass.

“Thank you,” he said. “Is it serious?”

“Maybe. We haven’t been going out with each other long. You’ll know it’s serious when I bring him home.”

Harry nodded and took another bite of chicken.

“Mum told me you were in St. Mungo’s,” Ginny said, deftly changing the topic.

“It was just a concussion,” Harry shrugged. “Got knocked in the head pretty hard.” And just like that, he was thinking about Malfoy again.

“There had to me more to it than that for you to be frowning like that, Harry.”

Harry looked at his ex-girlfriend for a long moment. She was leaning back in her chair, wine glass in her hand, gazing at him with a concerned intensity that told him she knew something was up with him and would listen without judging him.

In some ways he was closer to Ginny than Ron and Hermione, even. She had been the one who helped him figure out his sexuality, after all, and she’d been so supportive despite it meaning the end of their romantic relationship. Harry trusted her implicitly.

He stood up and poured himself a glass of wine. “You know Malfoy’s my partner while Ron’s in Australia, right?”

“Yes, I’ve heard,” she answered.

“We actually work pretty well together. He’s good at his job, and we get on okay now. We’re not what you would call friends; we’re not…close.”

“But you work well together,” she restated.

“Yes.”

“I can see that. You two were able to tolerate each other well enough to get through your Potions segment during Auror training, though at the time I was amazed that he was helping you. Your relationship has improved since then, I take it?”

Harry nodded.

“So what happened? I can tell something’s bothering you—I could tell the moment I entered the room.” She leant forward, propping her elbows on the table.

“We had a tip on Thorfinn Rowle.”

Ginny’s face clouded, but she didn’t say anything.

“And Malfoy and I went out to track him down. We found him. I can’t go into all the details, there’s still an investigation going on. But suffice it to say he outmanoeuvred us. I got thrown against the door frame and got a concussion. Rowle was going to kill me. He’d said the first syllables of the killing curse.”

Harry swallowed, then gulped some of his wine.

“And then Malfoy jumped in front of Rowle’s wand and tackled him. They wrestled, and Malfoy killed him in self-defence.”

Ginny blinked, her mouth falling open. “He stepped in front of a killing curse to save your life?” she said, astonished.

“That’s what I can’t get past, either,” Harry agreed. “He’s not the type to risk himself for anyone else, not like that.”

She nodded.

“We’ve saved each other’s lives several times over the past few months, it’s part of the job, but this… he’s never done anything like this before. I don’t understand it.”

“Have you asked him about it?”

Harry sighed. “Yes. He tried to feed me some line about risking his career if he let me die on his watch.”

“And you don’t think that’s true?” Ginny asked.

“Not entirely. Possibly it’s part of it, but not everything. He’s more than proven himself over the last few years. And I know him, Gin. He was lying, or at least not telling me the whole truth.” He frowned, remembering the flush across Malfoy’s cheeks, the way he fled the room when Harry pressed him about it. “He did say he just didn’t want me to die, and that was honest, but it still doesn’t tell me _why_.”

A mysterious gleam entered Ginny’s eyes, then. “Maybe you’re making it more complicated than it really is,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“You said you know Malfoy. The only people he’s ever put his life on the line for were his parents. People he _cares about_. And you’ve said he’s grown up, that you get along well.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘well’, Gin. We’re professional.”

“But still, you work well together. You’ve saved each other’s lives, more than once. You supported his application to the Auror programme. You kept his Mother out of Azkaban, and him, too, for that matter. Knowing all of that, do you think it’s impossible that he’s come to care about you?”

Harry started to argue, but his words died on his lips. He sank back into his chair, dazed.

“No, it can’t be. We work okay together, but I’m the one that he grew up hating.”

Ginny stood up and put her empty wine glass on the countertop beside the sink. “Just consider the possibility, Harry. I don’t know him very well, so I can’t say for sure, but from what you’ve told me, I’d say it’s a distinct likelihood. And if he does care about you, putting himself in danger to protect you isn’t really out of character for him, is it?”

Harry merely gaped at her.

“I have to go now,” she said, looking at the clock. “I promised Andrei that I’d be home by nine.”

Harry stared at her for a moment, his mind whirling around the idea that Malfoy cared about him. It couldn’t be. And then he registered that Ginny was leaving.

He stood up as she walked back over to the fireplace. “Say hello to Charlie for me,” he said.

She hugged him tightly and kissed his cheek. “You take care of yourself, Harry,” she said. “And keep an open mind about Malfoy. You might be pleasantly surprised.”

Harry snorted.

Ginny smacked him on the arm playfully. “See you,” she said, and then she was gone.

Harry turned and slumped into a chair. Malfoy, care about him? As more than just his partner? He decided upon another glass of wine and cleared his plate while he was at it. Then he swallowed a large mouthful of wine and tried to figure out how he was feeling.

Baffled. Confused.

And if it was true, if Malfoy cared about him, then what?

A pleasant tingling swept over Harry. Ginny could be right—she was perceptive like that. She’d been the one to help him realise that he was gay, after all. He’d really had no clue, but she was right.

But if Malfoy did care about him, Harry still had no idea what that meant. Would he want to be friends with Harry? Was he interested in being more than friends? Was Malfoy even gay? Was he interested in being friends with Malfoy? Was he _attracted to_ Malfoy?

 _Yes, and yes_.

The answer came to him in the quiet kitchen, surging up from his marrow. Yes, he did admire Draco Malfoy, respect him, and he did find him attractive.

It was one of the reasons he was able to get along with the git, though Harry hadn’t ever really thought about it that way before.

Harry smiled. Well, he still didn’t know why Malfoy had risked his life, but he had a theory. And he knew his own feelings better now. So all he had to do was try to learn the truth from the source.

And that would be difficult. Malfoy was intensely private. Harry had a feeling that Malfoy was gay, but he didn’t know for sure. Maybe it was time to try to extend their relationship beyond the workplace.

  


**::**  


“Are you ready for this?” Celia asked.

Harry, Archibald Lashley, the Head of the Auror Department, and Celia Warren were standing around the department Pensieve. They’d collected his memory the day before, and now it was time to review it. They’d waited an extra day for him to finish healing from his concussion, because he needed to watch the memory with them. It was important for him to participate; he might be able to notice details that he’d missed before, and any little detail could prove important. Celia was taking the lead on this case while Harry and Malfoy were on leave. Even though she was currently without a partner, she had the seniority and clearance to handle the investigation into the mysterious potion.

“Yes,” Harry said. Not only was he looking for anything important he’d missed about Rowle due to his concussion, but Harry was determined to watch Malfoy, too. His conversation with Ginny had ignited a burning need to know more about Draco Malfoy. Maybe he could see some sign or clue as to why he had stepped in front of that curse.

“Okay, you look around the room for clues,” Lashley instructed Warren. “Harry, you and I will watch the fight for anything important.”

“Right,” Harry replied. Together, the three of them dropped into the Pensieve.

Harry watched Malfoy as they stood in the hallway, joking over the loud sex. They’d lingered longer than they should have. _Shit_ , he thought, _we should have been more careful. We got distracted_. Other than that, Malfoy seemed normal, alert, and on the job. Nothing indicated that he felt anything for Harry other than as a colleague.

When they reached the bedroom, Harry situated himself in the opposite corner from where he’d originally stood, next to the wall that Malfoy was later smashed into. He watched Malfoy’s face as the memory Harry was blasted into the door frame. The memory seemed to slow then, and Harry stared unabashedly at Malfoy, transfixed. Draco’s face shifted from calculating to obvious panic when Harry’s body slumped to the floor, then to an apocalyptic rage when it was clear how severely injured Harry was. Malfoy’s pale, pointy features flushed and sharpened to razor edges intent on slicing Rowle to pieces. Harry could clearly see that all rational thought had fled from Malfoy’s mind. His cry of “Don’t you fucking dare!” was not the cry of an Auror defending his partner, but of a man protecting a loved one.

Harry gasped as realisation hit him, adrenaline surging through his veins and making his limbs tingle. How was this possible? He glanced over at Lashley, who was watching Draco wrestle with the naked Rowle, appraising his technique. He did not appear to notice Harry’s distress.

In the memory, Harry watched as Malfoy was thrown into the wall with enough force that he shattered the full length mirror and caved in the plaster. Tiny slivers of glass rained down on him, leaving small cuts on his face. Harry hadn’t noticed that before. Malfoy had one hand struggling to pull Rowle’s wand away from his face, the other alternately beating at the massive paw around his throat and scrabbling against the wall for support. Then his hand closed around a foot-long, slender piece of broken mirror.

Even though this was a memory, Harry’s heart raced as he watched what happened next.

It was a perfect, fatal thrust. Malfoy stabbed the shard of mirror upwards, slipping it easily between Rowle’s ribs and straight into his heart. The glass sliced into Draco’s hand deeply—Harry could hear it grind against bone. Malfoy didn’t even seem to notice; he was too intent on Rowle.

As Rowle and Malfoy fell to the floor, Harry could see that Draco’s eyes were locked on him the entire time; even as he was gasping for breath, he was watching Harry’s prone form, his grey eyes searching for signs of injury.

A moment later, MacDougal burst into the room, looking thunderous, followed by Warren and Williamson, and Lashley said, “That’s enough.”

Harry rose out of the Pensieve and found himself back in the interrogation room with Lashley and Warren. They looked pleased, as if they’d found all their answers; Harry had found only more questions. Did Draco really care about him that much? His stomach gave a pleasant flip, and Harry wondered why he was reacting this way.

“That coincides with Malfoy’s memory,” Lashley said.

“Rowle could have just Apparated out,” Warren mused. “Why do you think he chose not to?”

“He was confident he could beat us,” Harry answered. “Rowle has always preferred to fight rather than run. He had the potion that made him impervious to spells, and he would prefer to kill two Aurors just because he could.”

“Your lives were clearly in danger,” Lashley said.

“Yes,” Warren answered. “It’s obvious that Malfoy had no other options. Disarmed, partner disabled, up against an opponent who was clearly going to kill you both, and who was immune to spells to boot. There was no way to come out of it alive without killing Rowle. There wasn’t even an opportunity for the two of you to escape; he was too fast, and you were injured.”

Lashley nodded, then turned to Harry. “However, the two of you were not being sufficiently cautious in the hallway. You were distracted by the activities in the bedroom. You should have retreated the moment you identified it was Rowle and then called for backup.”

Harry nodded, expecting this. Lashley was right. He’d been enjoying the banter with Malfoy about the bad sex so much that they’d dawdled and got caught. “I agree, sir,” he said contritely. “We weren’t as careful as we should have been.”

Lashley gave him a stern stare for a moment, and Harry felt he was looking for signs of insincerity. He didn’t find any, apparently, because he nodded and continued. “But once you _were_ discovered, you handled everything as well as can be expected.”

“Malfoy was quite foolish to try to battle Rowle physically,” Warren interjected. “I know we’re trained in hand-to-hand combat, but Rowle had sixty pounds on Malfoy, easily, all of it muscle.”

Harry nodded. “I don’t know why he did that,” he said, even though he had a clue, but he didn’t understand _that_ , either. “It was probably our only remaining option—we had to subdue him somehow. Do we know what the potion was that he drank?” Harry asked. Rowle’s ability to throw off spells had turned the battle decidedly in his favour. Normally, two Aurors as well trained as he and Malfoy were could easily take down four or five people. But when the subject walked right through spells as if they hadn’t been cast… well that made it that much more difficult to stop him.

“Locusta’s Shield,” Lashley said. “I’ve only just learnt about it myself, after Minister Shacklebolt debriefed me on your conversation the other night. I spoke with the Unspeakables this morning and they identified it. Very dangerous, causes damage to your innate magic, particularly if used too often, or if you take too much. It acts like a shield spell, weaving protective magic into the skin. It won’t stop a killing curse, but just about every other offensive spell dissipates into nothing when it hits the skin. It only lasts for a few hours, though. Metabolises out of the system quickly.”

“I’ve never heard of that before,” Harry said, astonished. “How does it damage your magic?”

“It’s designed to protect you from magic,” Warren explained, her voice taking on a Hermione-ish lecture tone. “It’s named after Locusta, a witch who served the Roman Emperor Nero about two thousand years ago. She was a professional poisoner, and she made herself immune to most poisons by ingesting them in small amounts and developing a tolerance to them. So this potion, in small doses, will protect you from magic cast at you—it gives you a temporary immunity to magic cast on you by others. But if you take too high a dose or take it too often, it begins to poison your _own_ magic. Over time, it weakens your magical strength, but in a pinch, it will protect you in a firefight.”

Harry gaped at them, horrified.

“It’s a very recent development,” Lashley added. “It was something the Unspeakables were working on during the war, but never got to work right. It is incredibly difficult to brew—takes a long time and uses rare, expensive ingredients, some of which are poisonous. Unicorn tears, manticore eggs, cobra venom. Somehow, Rowle, or another Black Knight, got their hands on it and perfected it.”

“Do we have a leak?” Harry asked.

“Possibly,” Lashley answered.

Harry took a deep breath. “Fuck. This is not good.” His and Malfoy’s jobs—every Auror’s job, for that matter—just became infinitely more difficult if the Black Knights were impervious to magical means of capture. “Do we have a way to counter it?”

“Not yet, but we’re working on it,” Warren answered.

“How is it going?” Harry asked.

“Slowly.”

“Too bad we don’t have Snape around anymore. He’d have it figured out,” Harry muttered. “Hey, Malfoy was pretty good at Potions. He may be able to help.”

Lashley smiled. “He’s already offered. We’ll definitely be grateful for it when you two get back from your leave.”

Harry blinked at him. The investigation was nearly over, after only two days. Surely they weren’t going to keep him and Malfoy on leave for the whole week. There were more Black Knights to catch, after all. They needed to find out who was supplying that potion and who had it.

Lashley apparently could tell what Harry was thinking. “Ministry policy mandates one week of paid leave, minimum, Harry,” he said. “I know the investigation is wrapping up sooner than we thought, but that makes no difference. Part of it is to make sure that you are not too involved in the internal investigation, but it’s also to give you time to deal with the death. Taking a life, even in self-defence, is something that is hard to cope with. You need to stay today for the concluding hearing, but other than that, you and Malfoy are on leave until Monday. Enjoy your time off.” And with that, Lashley left the room.

Harry glared at his retreating figure, frustrated. Lashley reminded him of Percy Weasley sometimes, with his strict adherence to procedures. But he was a good Auror, and after Gawain Robards had been promoted to Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Lashley had done well as Head Auror. Beyond improving their office space and resources, Lashley had implemented policies that ensured that Aurors were well trained and had well-defined limits to their authority. Harry respected the man very much, even though he exasperated him sometimes.

“Have you heard from Ron lately?” Celia asked after a moment, startling Harry out of his momentary pout. 

He looked over at her and smiled. Celia Warren was about ten years older than Harry, but it hardly showed. She was a formidable Auror, and an intimidating woman. She had red-blonde hair and sharp blue eyes that occasionally took on a Dumbledore-ish twinkle when she smiled. Smart, sturdy, not traditionally beautiful but nonetheless arresting, she had become good friends with Harry and Ron when they had partnered with her during their rookie rotation years—when new Aurors switched partners every few months until everyone had worked with everyone and good relationships had formed. She had recently broken up with her former partner, Erik Williamson, after seeing him for several months, but she seemed to be getting over the split fairly well.

“He’s ecstatic. He adores Rowan, and he’s really enjoying his time in Australia with Hermione and her parents.”

“That’s wonderful,” she smiled. “I’m so happy for him and Hermione. I can’t wait for him to come back so I can see Rowan. Is she a redhead or brunette?”

“At the moment she’s totally bald, so we don’t know for sure,” Harry answered.

Celia laughed, delighted. “I expect she’s beautiful.”

“Very,” Harry said, wishing he had more than photographs to base his opinion on. “She’ll have grown by six inches by the time they get back to England, I’m sure. Teddy grew so fast at that age. I swear I had to buy him new clothes every few weeks.”

“How is Teddy?” she asked.

“He’s doing well. He’s so much fun now that he’s seven. He’s with Andromeda on the continent right now. They’re visiting some of her friends there and touring old castles.”

“Maybe you could visit with him while you’re on leave,” Celia suggested.

“Maybe,” Harry mused. He really had no interest in seeing Andromeda’s stuffy friends, but maybe he could stop by for an afternoon with Teddy. But something inside him made him hesitate. He was really hoping he could see more of Draco over this weekend. He needed to get to know him better, to understand what was going on between them that would lead Draco to risk his life for Harry. Teddy would be back in a few weeks, anyway.

Celia smiled at him. “Well, bring him by when he gets back. I prefer to have him empty my sweets bowl than eat them all by myself.”

Harry laughed and agreed.

  
**::**  


Harry stepped into Courtroom Four and saw that Malfoy was already there, seated at the long table. This was a smaller courtroom near the Auror department, used for small hearings and settlements. Across the table from Malfoy were Gawain Robards and Archibald Lashley.

Malfoy looked over at him, his grey eyes reflecting a blue glint from his robes. Harry’s gut squirmed at the sight of him—Malfoy appeared calm and poised, but Harry could tell that he was still a bit nervous.

 _How do I know that?_ Harry thought.

Malfoy gave him half a smile, and Harry felt his face warm. He mentally shook himself and turned to his supervisors. “Good afternoon,” he said, then took a seat beside Malfoy. Harry was hyper-aware of Malfoy’s presence next to him, but he managed to keep his mind mostly focussed on the situation at hand.

“Auror Potter, Auror Malfoy,” Lashley said. “Let’s get to it, shall we?”

Robards nodded and gestured for Lashley to continue.

“Good. We have reviewed your testimony, your Pensieve memories, and the evidence collected from your wands and Rowle’s wand,” Lashley said formally, his eyes revealing nothing. “The autopsy of Rowle is complete, and we have those results as well.”

Harry wanted to tell him to get on with it already, but he bit his cheek instead. Lashley was just like this—he had to lay out his path even if everyone in the room already knew where he was going. Harry supposed that it probably was a good idea to follow procedure, but at the moment, it was quite nerve-wracking. Harry felt Malfoy tap his foot impatiently and stifled a snort of amusement. He and Malfoy seemed to agree.

“This entire situation could have been avoided if you had not let yourselves be sidetracked by Rowle’s sexual activities. You should have retreated as soon as you identified that it was Rowle. You also should have called for backup sooner. But you did neither, and as a result you both were injured and we have lost a key player in this investigation.” Lashley’s face was stern, and Harry could tell he was disappointed. Guilt squirmed in his gut; he didn’t want Malfoy punished over this. He didn’t care so much if he was reprimanded himself, but Malfoy didn’t deserve it. Harry was the one who had started the banter about the sex, not Malfoy. The whole night was pretty much his fault.

“Nevertheless,” Lashley continued, his expression softening, “you both behaved appropriately, admirably, in my opinion, particularly when faced with an invincible opponent. Rowle was under the influence of the Locusta’s Shield potion, and the evidence clearly demonstrates that he killed Ms Elizabeth Smithers, a Muggle, and that he was attempting to kill the both of you. Your lives were in imminent danger. We hereby declare the death of Thorfinn Rowle to have occurred in self-defence. The two of you are free to go. You are to return on Monday to resume your normal duties, the first of which will be to review departmental procedures on tracking suspects. You will include in your reports to me a discussion of why it is inappropriate to be distracted by sex on the job. Your discussions on this topic will then be put into a memo that will be circulated throughout the department as a reminder to others. I believe you have learnt your lesson this time, but if anything of this nature happens in the future, you will not get off so easily. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes sir,” Harry answered in unison with Malfoy. Harry was mortified and felt his face flushing. The rest of the department was going to review a memo on the incident? Merlin, he was going to get so much crap from other Aurors over this.

“Thank you, sir,” Malfoy added, the tension in his posture relaxing visibly, though his face was slightly pinker, as well.

“Regarding the investigation into the Locusta’s Shield potion,” Robards leant forward and said in a low tone, “Auror Celia Warren is going to take the lead on the case temporarily while the two of you are on leave, starting with interviewing Department of Mysteries personnel. For now, I want to keep knowledge of this potion limited to those of us who already know, at least until we have a better idea of what we are up against. Lashley or I will inform any others on a need-to-know basis. Understood?”

“Yes sir,” Harry answered again, as Malfoy said, “Understood.”

“Well then, Warren will brief you upon your return on Monday. Enjoy your time off, gentlemen,” Robards said, smiling. He and Lashley stood and each shook Harry’s hand, then Malfoy’s.

“Will do, sir,” Harry said, though he had no idea what he was going to do with his free time over the next few days.

Once the Head Auror and Minister had left the room, Harry turned to Malfoy, who was looking quite relieved. “How about a pint,” Harry asked, “to celebrate?”

Malfoy looked at him for a moment, grey eyes dancing across Harry’s face. “You’re buying,” he said eventually.

Harry grinned, fighting the urge to laugh.

  
**::**  


“Merlin, we are going to be a laughing stock once those memos make their way around the department,” Harry groaned.

“I know,” Malfoy agreed, running his finger through the condensation on the bar left by his nearly-empty glass. “At least Weasley isn’t here to torment us over it.”

“I’ll still hear about it from him; he’d never let this slide without a little ribbing. And I thought we were done writing essays when we left Hogwarts,” Harry complained.

Malfoy snorted. “No one told you that half an Auror’s life is paperwork?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Harry answered. He finished his pint of mead and signalled for another round.

Malfoy swallowed the rest of his drink and pushed the empty glass towards the barman when he arrived with two more pints. “Would it have made any difference?” he asked.

“Maybe,” Harry grumbled, then sighed. He tossed a few sickles down on the bar. “Honestly, probably not. I wanted to be an Auror ever since fourth year.”

“I didn’t,” Malfoy said. “But then my life turned out to be completely different than what I expected when I was fourteen.”

Harry looked at Malfoy and nodded, feeling no urge to press for details. He’d gathered as much from their conversations throughout Auror training and since they’d been partnered together. Not that Draco had ever said much about his past, but Harry was able to piece together a comment here and there to understand how Malfoy felt.

Malfoy eyed him over his glass. “Not going to interrogate me further, Potter? And I gave you quite an opening, there.”

Harry was surprised. Malfoy _wanted_ him to pry? “I hadn’t planned on it, no. I understand already.”

“Tell me what you understand about me, then,” Malfoy challenged, his eyes intense.

Harry thought for a moment, then took a deep breath. “Well, you—”

“Hold that thought,” Draco interrupted. “Not here. Let’s go sit down at a table.”

Harry collected his mead and stepped away from the bar, following Malfoy as he meandered around patrons and tables over to an empty table in a dim corner of the pub. The place was fairly busy, and there weren’t many tables free. Harry was glad that Malfoy had spotted this one. 

Harry had nearly reached the table when he was jostled from behind. He only just managed to keep from dropping his drink. It sloshed over the side of the glass, spattering to the floor. “Steady on there, mate,” Harry said as he turned around to see who had bumped into him.

“Oi, Potter!” Colm MacDougal greeted him cheerfully, his cheeks flush. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

The Scottish Auror appeared to be quite intoxicated. He was standing around a table with a large group of people who were clearly engaged in a rowdy drinking game of some sort. Harry could see Erik Williamson, MacDougal’s partner, chugging a pint of beer, his long ponytail dangling across his shoulder. Erik had not handled the break up with Celia as well as she had, and had been routinely drowning his sorrows in the pub after work. At least his performance at work had not visibly suffered for it. Colm, younger than Erik by ten years and something of a party animal, was always up for a drink and as such encouraged Erik’s behaviour. Harry didn’t think they were a good match as partners, because though they worked well together, they rather brought out the worst in each other. But Harry wasn’t the one who made partner assignment decisions.

“No worries,” Harry said, grinning.

“How’s the invest... invest... internal review goin’?” MacDougal slurred, swaying where he stood.

“It’s done,” Harry answered. “They agreed it was self-defence.”

“Tha’ was fast,” MacDougal frowned.

“Evening, MacDougal,” Draco said, appearing at Harry’s side. He took Harry’s drink and put it on the table, away from the wobbly Auror.

“Glad to hear you got off,” Colm said to Harry. “Knew ya didnae do nothin’ wrong. Now Malfoy here, he’s always up to no good.” MacDougal gave Draco an exaggerated wink.

“Thanks, MacDougal,” Malfoy said, rolling his eyes. “I appreciate your abundant faith in me.”

“You should join us!” MacDougal grinned, staggering into Harry. “You off-duty?”

“Yes,” Harry answered, grabbing MacDougal’s shoulder to help keep the man upright. “Until Monday.”

“Lucky bastards. Time off with pay?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Draco answered.

“Well then, all the more reason to celebrate!” MacDougal cheered, then swayed again, this time nearly falling into Draco. Harry just managed to keep him from toppling over.

“Thanks for the invite,” Harry said, “but Malfoy and I have some casework to discuss.” He liked MacDougal and Williamson well enough, but he really wanted to spend time with Draco, just the two of them. He wanted to continue their conversation.

“Potter’s right,” Draco added, his grey eyes flashing gratitude at Harry. “Just because we’re on leave doesn’t mean the casework stops completely.”

“Alrigh’,” MacDougal said.

A loud round of noise from the table of drinkers drew their attention. “You’d better mind your partner before he collapses,” Draco gestured towards Erik, who was looking decidedly green.

“Ooh,” Colm said, taking in his partner’s waxy appearance. “Come on, mate, let’s go to the gents.” He reached over to Williamson, and the two of them stumbled off towards the toilet.

Harry chuckled and resumed his trek to the table Draco had picked out.

“I believe you were about to explain what you understand about me,” Malfoy said as he sat down. His eyes glinted steel in the dim pub light, and Harry felt a shiver travel to his groin.

He took a sip of his mead and tried to collect his thoughts. He inhaled deeply, catching a whiff of Draco’s cologne over the aroma of hops and the bite of whisky. As he let the breath out, years’ worth of observations spilled from his mouth.

“I suspect that you were spoilt absolutely rotten as a child. Your parents adored you, and you them. You grew up privileged and never really appreciated it, because you didn’t understand how lucky you were. Oh, you knew you were a Malfoy and the Malfoys were special, better than others because of your blood, wealth, etcetera, and you never once questioned that status. You believed every word your parents said about blood status because you never had a reason to doubt them.”

Malfoy leant back in his seat and raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. Harry continued.

“I know your parents loved you,” Harry said, recalling their desperation to find Draco during the final battle, “but I think that they sheltered you. They coddled you. You were completely used to getting your way.”

Draco eyed Harry contemplatively. He took a drink of his mead and then said, “Not entirely accurate, but a fair assessment. I did have to earn certain privileges, and I was expected to live up to their high standards. But then again, I never doubted my ability to do so. Looking back now, I know that I had a naïve and overly simplistic view of the world with my father and the Dark Lord on the right side, and Dumbledore and Muggle-borns on the side trying to ruin our world. Learning otherwise was quite a difficult and painful process, and you were right in the middle of it all. So, go on, Potter. I’m curious to find out just how well you actually know me.”

Harry laughed nervously. He half expected Malfoy to argue with him, but instead he was just sitting there patiently and _calmly_ responding to Harry’s theories about him. “You’re not going to fight with me?” he asked, half in jest.

“Not yet,” Draco smiled and trailed his finger along the handle of the glass. “I want to hear everything first.”

“Oh, so no pressure, then,” Harry replied. “Will I need to shield a hex or two?”

Malfoy’s smile morphed into a wide grin. “Don’t worry that pretty head of yours, Potter. I won’t curse you because you have the wrong ideas about me. I’ll just have to _re-educate_ you.”

Another shiver trilled down Harry’s spine and settled between his hips, where it refused to dissipate. The look on Draco’s face was positively predatory. He took a large swallow of his mead and hoped he wasn’t blushing. Or misreading Malfoy’s body language. He rather liked the non-verbal communication from his partner and hoped he wasn’t just seeing what he wanted to see.

“Okay, then…” Harry said. “Where was I?”

“I was completely accustomed to getting everything I wanted,” Malfoy answered dryly.

“Right.” He took a moment to remember the first time he met Draco Malfoy, in Madam Malkin’s robe shop, and smiled at the memory. Draco really had been a snotty little shit. “Once you went to Hogwarts, you started to experience not getting your way. And it was hard for you. Not everyone adored you because of your family name. You didn’t get the special treatment you’d expected, at least not as much or as often as you wanted. But you blamed that on me, or it was because of Dumbledore’s favouritism, or because people envied you and your family.” This was mostly guesswork on Harry's part, but he was fairly sure he was on the right track.

“Things started changing after fourth year. Voldemort was back. Your father went back into his service. You still naively believed that Voldemort was trying to improve the wizarding world by protecting it from Muggles. I think that you saw it as vindication, as vengeance upon Dumbledore and his supporters. And me in particular.”

Harry took another drink. Malfoy didn’t say anything in the pause; he was watching Harry closely with undisguised interest, though Harry couldn’t quite make out the nature of that interest. 

“And then your father was put in Azkaban. You blamed me for that for the longest time. But you began to wonder, to question. How could your father, someone so powerful, get thrown in jail? And why didn’t the Dark Lord free him?

“And then came sixth year, when Voldemort decided to punish you for your father’s mistakes by giving you an impossible task.” Harry wasn't guessing now—he knew more about the events of their sixth year (and seventh year, for that matter) than Malfoy did, and he clearly recalled Draco's declining health that year as he struggled under the burden of his task. “At first you were confident, but slowly the awful realisation of what was actually happening came over you. Your parents’ lives were in your hands. You didn’t know how hard it is to kill someone, and you didn’t want to do it. You were trapped. Finally, you understood that Voldemort wasn’t trying to protect the wizarding world; he was trying to enslave it. Genocide. Murder. Torture. He made you do terrible things. Things that you’d joked about before, but were horrible once you experienced them.

“And when you were facing an unarmed Dumbledore, everything crashed around you. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t kill him in cold blood, because your blood isn’t cold. You would have accepted his offer of protection had you not been interrupted by the Carrows. You were horrified to see that Greyback was there.”

“How do you know that?” Draco asked, his voice a strangled whisper. His face had paled as Harry spoke, and it was now a pasty white.

“I was there on the tower that night with you and Dumbledore.”

“Oh.” Malfoy looked down and clenched his fists, breaking eye contact for the first time since they’d started this conversation.

Harry worried for a moment that he’d gone too far. He and Malfoy had never spoken of this before, and it was dredging up many painful memories. Yet, he felt that they _needed_ to have this discussion. They needed to resolve their past before they could move forward. Not that Harry was planning on anything at this point, but he felt driven to _completely_ bury the hatchet with Draco. Yes, they were quasi-friends now, but he wanted more. Real friendship at the least. He wanted… well he wasn’t quite sure what he wanted. He was attracted to Draco, but he needed to know what Draco felt. What Draco wanted. He hoped that this conversation would lead them to greater trust and intimacy.

“I'm sorry,” Harry said softly. “I didn't bring it up to rub your nose in it. I just wanted you to know that I know you were in an impossible situation, and I don't blame you for what happened, not anymore.” He took a deep breath. _In for a Knut, in for a Galleon_ , Harry thought. He wanted to get everything out on the table. “I also know what you went through during seventh year, how Voldemort tortured you and forced you to torture others. I saw it in Voldemort's mind, I could see through his eyes sometimes. It was obvious to me that you hated every second of it, that you didn't want to do it. But Voldemort had you and your family at wandpoint, and you didn't have any other options.”

Draco was silent for a long moment, during which Harry's gut churned anxiously.

“You're wrong,” Malfoy said, still looking down at the table. “I could have left. I could have taken my parents and fled. I could have... well, I doubt I could have found you, but I did think about it at times. Wishing I had the courage to find you and switch sides. But I was foolish and arrogant, and by the time I really understood what was going on, I was in way over my head and had no idea how to get out of it. So I just tried my best to keep myself and my parents alive.”

“I know, Draco,” Harry said, deciding that a discussion this intimate warranted the use of their first names. “I could tell how relieved you were when everything was over.”

“You're definitely right about that,” Draco said after another long moment, his hands relaxing and gaze returning to Harry’s face. “Well, I did ask you what you know about me, and I knew that we wouldn't be able to have this conversation without the war coming up. It's a rather large part of our history. You’re very perceptive about my Hogwarts years, Harry. I’m surprised. And I don’t quite know what to think about that yet.”

Harry nodded. It was a lot to take in. “I’m surprised, myself, actually,” he admitted.

“You’ve paid more attention to me over the years than you realised,” Malfoy smirked, his colour coming back.

Harry blushed. “I suppose you’re right about that.”

A loud snore came from the next booth, and Harry looked over to see MacDougal and Williamson passed out on the table. He hadn’t even noticed them sitting down; he’d been too engrossed in his conversation with Draco.

Malfoy chuckled. “They’re going to have sore necks in the morning,” he said.

“And killer hangovers,” Harry added.

“It’s late,” Draco said, glancing at his watch. “What do you say we continue this discussion tomorrow?”

Harry checked his own watch and saw that it was past one o’clock in the morning. “You’re not upset with me?” he asked.

“No, I’m not,” Draco answered. “I’m interested to hear more of your insights into my life. I’m curious to know just how well you know me.”

“Oh.”

“And I want to find out just how well I know you,” Draco continued. “Don’t think that all of this psychoanalysis is going to be about me, Potter. You’ll have a turn, too.”

Harry found that he was very intrigued by this prospect. He’d always felt that Draco held some very inaccurate beliefs about him—preconceived notions based on him being “The Boy Who Lived.” He wanted to find out if Draco had come to understand him better, or at all.

“I wouldn’t expect it to be any other way, Malfoy,” he said.

“Good. I’m leaving in the morning to go my house in Nice. You should come with me.”

“What?” Harry was floored for a moment. He’d not been expecting that. “No, I couldn’t impose,” he said, shocked.

“I just invited you, Potter,” Draco replied. “You wouldn’t be imposing. Besides, how will we continue this conversation if you’re in London and I’m in Nice?”

Harry thought about it for a moment. The idea was attractive. He’d never been to Nice.

“Come on, Potter,” Draco wheedled. “You’ve never done anything this spontaneous before, have you?”

Harry shook his head no.

“You need a break as much as I do. I promise you’ll have a good time. You could use some sun.”

“Are you sure?” Harry asked. He was so tempted. _Ginny would tell you to go_ , he thought.

“Yes, Potter, I’m sure. It’s not like there isn’t enough room. And I have my own private strip of beach.”

Harry caved. “Okay, fine. It sounds great.”

Draco’s face split into a breathtaking smile. Harry’s heart did an odd little thump against his sternum.

“Great!” Draco said. “Meet me at the coffee shop across the street from the visitor’s entrance at nine o’clock. I’ll have a Portkey. You’ll need to pack for warm weather, and bring your swimming trunks.”

“Okay,” Harry grinned. This sounded like a _lot_ of fun.

  
**::**  


In the sober light of day, Harry was nervous. Nervous, excited, scared, anxious, and eager all at once. He wasn’t sure this was a good idea. He was going on a weekend getaway with his partner, a man who he was attracted to. And he couldn’t tell exactly how Malfoy felt about him. Yes, he knew that Malfoy cared, but not to what extent. Would the two of them come away from this weekend as friends? Lovers? Or would they decide that they were best off as colleagues, that they didn’t like each other once they really got to know each other?

He tossed his flip-flops into his bag and zipped it up, wondering if he was forgetting anything. He looked up at the clock and started when he saw that it was 9:05 a.m.

“Fuck!” He had agonised for so long that he lost track of time. Malfoy would probably give up on him and leave without him. Harry was surprised by how much he didn’t want that to happen. He grabbed his bag, keys, and cloak, and dashed out the front door.

And promptly yelped as his bare feet hit cold floor tile.

Bugger it, he’d forgotten to put his shoes on.

Harry scrambled to unlock the door and then spent a frantic couple of minutes searching for his left trainer. He eventually found it wedged under his sofa and had no idea how it had got there.

He was a full fifteen minutes late by the time he Apparated to the pavement in front of the café. Thankfully, it was a wizarding establishment, so he could Apparate there without worrying about Muggles.

He dashed inside, praying that Malfoy was still there.

He was. Harry breathed a deep sigh of relief as he spotted his partner sitting at a table, talking to Warren. He tried to calm his frantic breathing as he made his way over to them.

“How do you think they were able to get the potion to work?” Harry heard Celia ask.

“I only just got the potion recipe that the Department of Mysteries was working on,” Draco answered. “I haven’t had time to look at it or the potion recovered from Rowle’s hideout yet.”

“Yes, you’re on leave, aren’t you?” she said, obviously more to remind herself than actually asking a question.

Harry reached the table then, and it was all he could do to not look like he’d sprinted here from Chelsea. He didn’t know if he succeeded, though, if the raised eyebrow he received from Malfoy was any indication. “Sorry I’m late,” he said.

“Thought you’d changed your mind,” Draco said coolly, and Harry could detect a hint of hurt in his voice.

“No! Not at all,” he assured. “I’m really looking forward to this trip. I’ve never taken off for a weekend before. I really didn’t mean to be late. Had trouble finding my shoe,” he admitted sheepishly.

Draco snorted. “Now why doesn’t that surprise me? Did you have trouble finding your comb, too?”

“Har, har,” Harry replied, running his fingers through his hair. “Morning, Celia,” he said to Warren.

“Good morning, Harry,” she replied, grinning. “Where are you two going?” she asked, eyeing their bags.

“My place in France,” Malfoy answered. “Thought I’d take advantage of this leave and actually make a mini-holiday out of it. I took pity on Potter here and invited him along, because the poor sod doesn’t get out much.” He threw a wink at Harry. “Pathetic, really. One would think he’s a hermit, looking at his social calendar. Oh wait, he doesn’t have a social calendar.”

Harry spluttered in protest, not quite knowing what to say. It was true, really. His life was rather boring at the moment, particularly with his two best friends halfway around the world. And he hadn’t gone out with anyone, let alone had sex, in months.

Warren laughed. “Be nice,” she said to Malfoy.

“I believe you’ve mistaken me for Neville Longbottom,” retorted Malfoy.

  
**::**  


“Well, here we are,” Draco said when they’d both reoriented themselves after the Portkey journey.

Harry looked around, surprised. Draco’s house was much more modest than he’d been expecting. He’d anticipated a sprawling, luxurious house, but it was more like a _cottage_ , though it was still a decent size. Harry was standing in a large open room with vaulted ceilings that flowed smoothly from kitchen to dining area to sitting room. There were large windows all across the front of the house, showing a magnificent view of the Mediterranean. Harry was astonished at how intensely _blue_ the water was.

“There’s a porch outside, and then a path down to the sand—I have a private stretch of beach that’s well-warded,” Draco said. “It’s only about fifty yards.”

“That sounds great,” Harry said.

“Come this way and I’ll show you to your room.” Draco gestured towards the hallway to Harry’s right.

Harry followed, taking in the comfortable furnishings, mostly in various shades of blue, white, and green. “There are two bedrooms on this floor, and two bedrooms on the first floor. There are two bathrooms upstairs, and one down here. We’ll stay up there; it has a better view.” He turned a corner and went up a flight of stairs. Harry followed him up.

Harry put his bag in the bedroom Draco indicated and made his way back downstairs. “So, what do you think?” Draco asked.

“It’s lovely,” Harry answered. “No house elves?”

“None, though I could call some from the Manor if we need anything. I bought this place with my trust money because I wanted an escape from the opulence of the Manor.” He turned to look out the large window at the sea. “I love how peaceful it is here,” Draco said after a moment in which the only sound was the rhythm of the waves.

“I can see that,” Harry answered.

“What shall we do first?” Draco asked. “We can go to town and do some shopping—I need to do that anyway to get some groceries, but you can just head down to the beach if you don’t want to go with me.”

“I’d love to go to town,” Harry replied. He could just imagine the kind of shops and boutiques there, and he wanted to get something for his new god-daughter.

Draco gave him a beatific smile, and Harry’s breath caught in his throat. “Brilliant. I’ll Apparate us there,” he said, holding out his arm.

Harry placed his hand on Draco’s arm, feeling his warmth.

  
**::**  


“You know, Potter,” Draco said as they milled around the Muggle outdoor market the next day, his voice suspiciously casual, “we never did finish that conversation the other night.”

Harry glanced up from a table full of little wooden train cars shaped like the letters of the alphabet that he was thinking of getting for Rowan, his attention immediately pinned on Draco. They had picked up groceries for the weekend yesterday, but the lure of the sea had kept them from lingering too long in town. Harry had spent most of the day yesterday lounging around on the beach or in the blue waters, and he was already a golden brown. So today they had decided to return to town to shop for fun. They were currently browsing through the tourist-oriented fare, having already visited clothing and wine shops.

But now Harry was focused on Draco. He’d wanted to resume their conversation from the pub, to restore that unique sense of intimacy. Perhaps Draco felt more comfortable talking this way in the anonymity of a crowd.

“No, we haven’t,” he replied. “Didn’t you say it was your turn next?”

Draco glanced at him over a rack of postcards. “Yes, I did,” he said softly.

Harry smiled. Draco almost seemed nervous. “So tell me what you know about me,” he prodded.

Draco opened his mouth, then shut it, appearing to think. “Are you going to buy those?” he asked, pointing at the wooden train pieces.

Harry looked over at the lady behind the table, who looked eager to make a sale. “Yes,” he said, selecting an engine, rear car, and all the letters of his god-daughter's name.

“Ron and Hermione will love it, I’m sure,” Draco said. “Let’s make our purchases and then sit down—” he pointed towards a bustling café “—and have a drink. We can talk there.”

“Okay,” Harry agreed. “Combien, s’il vous plait?” he asked the vendor, hoping his rusty French wasn’t too horrid.

She counted up the cars in his hands and said “Vingt Euro.”

Harry began to dig out €20, when Draco stepped up to him and interrupted.

“Non, c’est trop cher,” he said to the woman. “Dix.”

“Dix-huit.”

“Quinze,” Draco replied. “C’est pour un bébé, sa nièce.”

She looked conflicted for a moment, then nodded. “Oui. Quinze.”

Harry handed her the €20 and she gave him back €5. She put the toy cars in a little bag and handed it to Harry.

“Merci,” he said.

“Merci, bonne journée,” she answered.

Harry followed Draco over to the café and managed to find a free table. It was small, and their knees brushed under it when they sat down. After taking a few minutes to order some wine, Harry cast a wandless privacy charm around them that would make it appear to observers that they were talking about the weather, leant back into his chair and waited for Draco to say something.

Draco played with his napkin for a moment, then took a deep breath. “I used to think I had you completely figured out, Harry,” he said. “But now it’s _clear_ that I don’t know nearly as much about you as I thought. You were pretty accurate about me, though. Scarily so.”

Harry smiled at him. “There’s plenty I’m not aware of, I’m sure,” he said. _Like why you risked your life for me_ , he thought. _Or why you care enough about me to do so_.

Draco smiled. “Hopefully, yes,” he said. “Don’t want you to know all my secrets just yet,” he teased, and Harry’s stomach fluttered.

“You hate your fame,” Draco said after a moment. “I used to think you loved it, but I know better now. You work hard to prove yourself, to show that you’re actually good at your job and not just a celebrity who gets handed things he hasn’t earned. And you are very good at what you do.”

Harry nodded. Draco was pretty accurate, so far.

“You rarely use your name to get what you want—only when it’s something very important. You could have gone into professional Quidditch, but you didn’t want more fame, and you wanted to do something that helps people. You’re not nearly as inept at potions as you think you are. I think you would have done better if Snape wasn’t your instructor, actually.

“I used to think you grew up like royalty, pampered and spoiled. Now I understand that wasn’t the case, but I don’t know what your childhood was really like. You’re very private, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the rumours about your Muggle relatives treating you like dirt were at least partially true. If so, the fact that you don’t hate Muggles amazes me.

“You’re devoted to your work, and I’m pretty sure you aren’t with anyone, but I wonder if you’re even interested in seeing anyone. You were with Ginevra Weasley for a while, but split up for some unknown reason. She’s still one of your best friends, which is what led me to think that you were still together until you told me otherwise.”

“She is,” Harry agreed, but didn’t elaborate. He wanted to hear everything Draco had to say.

“You care about people, about doing the right thing. You’re so noble, ridiculously so sometimes, but you have a streak of deviousness that underlies everything. Not many people know that, I suspect.

“You lost several people very important to you in the war, so you protect those you care about with a ferocity I’ve never seen before. And for someone who has lost so much, who has been through what you have, that you can be so perpetually… _upbeat_ astonishes me.

“And I feel like I’ve barely scratched the surface with you. There’s so much more that I want to know…” He trailed off, blushing.

Heart thudding in his throat, Harry felt his face heat up as well. There was a moment of awkward silence, and then Harry leant forward. “I feel the same way about you,” he said.

Draco looked up at him, his grey eyes a question.

Harry smiled and nodded. “I like that we’re getting to know each other better, Draco. I want it to continue.”

Draco smiled at him, a brilliant smile, and Harry’s breath hitched. Merlin, he was beautiful.

“So go ahead and ask me. Anything in particular?” Harry asked. At the moment, he was willing to answer just about any question Draco asked.

Draco’s eyes widened in surprise. Harry could see a hundred questions flit across his face and wondered what he would ask first.

“Why did you and Weasley break up?” Draco asked finally.

For some reason, Harry found that he didn’t mind the question. Usually he refused to discuss what had happened between him and Ginny because he fiercely guarded his privacy. He was open about his sexuality with the people he was closest to, but that was it. He wasn’t ashamed of it; he just didn’t want to see it splashed all over the Daily Prophet. But he was placing Draco in the “important person” category now, so he decided to share. Maybe it would confirm Draco’s sexuality one way or the other. Harry was pretty sure that Draco was at least bisexual, given the palpable attraction between them.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Draco said, disappointed.

Apparently he’d been thinking too long. “No, I want to tell you. It’s just something I don’t usually share. But I’d like you to know.”

Draco gave him a soft smile and leant forward.

“Ginny was my first true love,” Harry said. “I still love her. She’ll always be one of my dearest friends, but that’s all,” he added when Draco’s face fell slightly.

“We were together for about a year after the war. We got together my sixth year, but split after Dumbledore died. I needed to focus on the war, and I wanted to protect her.

“After it was over, we got back together. I had this vision of the life I wanted with her—marriage, children, us standing together on Platform 9 ¾ watching our kids go off to school. It was something we both wanted.”

Draco merely nodded, but said nothing. Harry could feel the tension in Draco from across the table. He sat back just a bit, and his knee bumped against Draco’s. A jolt of lightning went through him, sparking in his groin, and he smiled at the physical reminder of why he and Ginny separated.

Draco stiffened at the touch, swallowed, but didn’t’ move away. When Harry made no attempt to remove his leg from Draco’s, Draco seemed to relax. Harry smiled.

“Obviously, though, something happened,” Draco prodded.

“Yes,” Harry answered. “It was gradual really, and I totally did not see it coming.

“Growing up with the spectre of Voldemort over my head and the prophecy that I had to fulfil didn’t really allow me the luxury of being a teenager. I was rather too busy trying to keep myself and my friends alive to indulge in hormones and lust. So when I was free of that, I dove right in. I had no idea what I was doing, and Ginny taught me a lot. Sex was new, exciting, and I had a great time with it. But after the newness wore off, it slowly became clear to me that something wasn’t right.”

Harry took a moment and recalled his and Ginny’s frustration—how after one mind-blowing experimental session where Ginny had stuck her fingers up Harry’s arse while giving him a blow job, Harry’s interest in other types of sex that did not involve his arse waned. How he never liked to perform oral sex on her, how her taste had made his stomach churn. How eventually he could only have sex with her from behind. How he became fascinated with the idea of anal sex, and how she didn’t like it the one time they had tried it. During all of that confusion, he’d never once considered that he might be gay.

“I won’t go into details, because it’s personal between her and I, but sex became less and less satisfying for both of us. I had no idea why. Maybe she did, I don’t know.

“Anyway, one day we were at this Muggle hotel. I’d taken her out for our anniversary, to try to reignite the passion, but it wasn’t going so well. So we were cuddled up together on the sofa, flipping through the channels on the telly. We stumbled across a gay porno. There, on this huge TV screen, were two men going at it. Full-on anal sex.”

Draco’s jaw nearly hit the table; clearly he had _not_ expected Harry to say that.

“We were both surprised,” Harry continued, smirking at Draco’s reaction, “and I was instantly achingly aroused. Given that I was spooning behind her, she knew immediately.” Harry stopped to finish off his glass of wine.

Draco’s eyes were riveted on Harry’s face. “What did she do?” he breathed.

“She got up, dug through her bag, retrieved her vibrating dildo and some lube, and fucked me with it,” Harry answered. “The porno was still going, and I couldn’t stop watching it. I knew, then, and I had the most intense orgasm of my life.” It had been a tremendous release emotionally as well as physically—relief, understanding, and acceptance all in one go. Merlin, he was hard just remembering it.

And he couldn’t believe he’d just told Draco that. He hadn’t meant to share any details, but they’d just poured out of him unchecked. He’d never talked about that with anyone, and he was embarrassed, but at the same time he didn’t regret sharing that with Draco.

Draco was visibly blushing now, his eyes dilated. That was a promising reaction, Harry thought. He sat back in his seat, breaking the connection between their knees, and coughed uncomfortably. He needed the space to breathe. “Anyway,” he said, “afterwards she went into the bathroom and cried for about twenty minutes while I recovered from the shock. When she came back out, she was my best friend. We talked, a lot, about me being gay, what that meant, what to do, and then we went home. We announced that our romantic relationship was over, and why, and she’s been my cheerleader ever since.”

Harry looked out into the street, at all the people milling about the market, trying to give them both space to collect their thoughts. He silently willed his erection to subside.

Draco dropped the privacy charm around them and called the waiter over for some water.

Despite how much he’d just revealed about himself, Harry was quite content. Something was happening between him and Draco, something he liked very much.

The waiter returned with their water and Harry gratefully took a drink. His mouth was parched after that conversation.

“What did the rest of the Weasleys—?” Draco started, but then he stopped.

Harry froze at the same instant. Someone had just cast a spell in their direction. Whoever had done it had tried to disguise it, but it felt like a tracking charm to Harry.

He didn’t make any outward movements to indicate that he’d felt it, but his eyes scanned the crowd. He could see Draco doing the same over his shoulder. There wasn’t anyone that stood out, just a bunch of tourists with cameras.

“So have you _followed_ football much this season, Harry?” Draco asked casually.

“Yes,” Harry said, indicating that he agreed with Draco on the type of spell it was. “Any particular team catch your eye?”

“No,” Draco answered. “You?”

Harry shook his head no. He’d not seen anyone suspicious yet, either. “I’ll probably root for Manchester just because they’re closest to _home_.”

Draco nodded. They stood up, collected their bags, left some money on the table, and left the café, walking further into the market crowd.

Harry saw a public toilet ahead and directed Draco towards it. It did not look like anyone was following them, but the crowd was dense.

Amazingly, the men’s room was unoccupied. Harry cast a quick silencing charm on the room while Draco locked the door. Harry then turned his wand on his partner, casting a charm to check for spells. Draco was doing the same to him.

“No tracking charm on you,” he said.

“There is one on you,” Draco replied. “Rather inexpertly done, in my opinion,” he continued. He concentrated for a moment, and Harry felt Draco’s magic wash over him. “That’s done it,” he said. “It’s off.”

“Thanks. Any ideas?”

“No.”

“Could have been a reporter,” Harry suggested. “It may have been a few years, but they still try to follow me around quite a bit. I’ve actually had tracking charms cast on me by photographers before.” Harry was sure it wasn’t that simple, though. It just felt more malicious than that.

“Let’s go back to the house,” Draco said.

Harry nodded in agreement. Draco removed the locking charm and silencing spell, then they both stepped into a stall. Harry gripped Draco’s arm and flushed the toilet just before Draco Apparated them away, using the noise of the flush to mask the crack of their Disapparation.

They landed in Draco’s sitting room, and Harry stumbled backwards.

“We should probably stay at the house for the rest of the weekend,” Draco said. “It’s well warded and they can’t find you here, regardless of whoever it was.”

“We should probably tell Lashley,” Harry said as he sat down.

“We can tell him when we get back on Monday. You’re probably right—it was probably someone who wanted to follow you around for pictures.”

It rang false in Harry’s ears, but telling Lashley would be a pain, and they might have to go back to London. Harry really didn’t want to do that just yet, so he let it drop. They were safe enough here.

“Okay,” he said, and his breath hitched when Draco smiled at him.

“Wonderful,” Draco smiled. “I’ll just start supper, then.” And he took his bags to the kitchen and began putting groceries away.

  
**::**  


Harry stood on the beach in his swimming trunks, shivering as the slight breeze and the last of the evening sun dried the water off his skin. He’d come out for an evening swim after dinner, and Draco had promised to join him after washing up after supper. It had been twenty minutes, though, and Harry was thinking about going back to the house and dragging his partner down to the beach. It was cooling off enough that swimming might not be comfortable, but the sunset was absolutely breathtaking, and the waves were soft and regular. It was perfect for walking.

“Potter!” Draco’s voice called. He could hear footsteps in the sand, approaching.

“Harry,” Draco said when he was close enough for normal speech. Harry turned around and shivered.

Draco was glowing gold in the sunset light. Harry took that in for a moment, and then noticed the serious expression on Malfoy’s face. “What’s the matter?” he asked, suddenly feeling more alert.

“Lashley’s on the Floo. Says it’s urgent. He won’t tell me what’s going on until you’re there, too.”

Harry frowned and followed Malfoy back up the path into the house. “Did he say what it was about?” he asked.

“No,” Draco answered curtly. “Just that he needed to talk to the both of us. He seemed serious.” The tension was rolling off Draco in waves, and Harry could feel a knot forming in his stomach.

Once they entered the house, they stepped into the sitting room. Harry didn’t even bother to put on a shirt. Lashley’s head was floating in the fireplace, lapped by green flame. He looked particularly grave.

Harry sat down on the sofa facing the fireplace next to Draco. “What’s happened?” he asked Lashley.

“Celia Warren has been murdered,” Lashley said without preamble.

Harry’s heart plummeted into his stomach. He was glad he’d sat down.

“Fuck,” Draco cursed, echoing Harry’s sentiments. “How? Who?”

“We don’t know who did it yet,” Lashley answered. Her body was found in the alley by the visitor’s entrance to the Ministry just a couple of hours ago. She’d been hit with a slashing hex, and she bled out. It happened somewhere else—we’re still looking—and her body was left near the phone booth.”

“They wanted the Ministry to find her,” Draco said, at the exact same time that Harry said, “We’ll be right there.”

Harry fully intended to pack up and head back immediately.

“No!” Lashley said. “You two stay where you are.”

“But—” Harry and Draco both said.

“No!” Lashley insisted. “Things are crazy here at the moment. You two are still on administrative leave, and we have plenty of people here to work the case. If you come back to work early, it will be a nightmare of red tape and paperwork for me to handle. I just wanted to let you know what happened and to ask you if you know of anything that might help the investigation.”

“What do you need to know?” Draco asked, cutting off another protest from Harry.

“Are either of you aware of anyone who might have a grudge against her? Do you know if she was seeing anyone?”

“As far as I’m aware, she was single,” Draco answered.

“Yeah,” Harry added. “She had a messy breakup with Williamson a few months back, but they’ve been civil lately, now that Williamson’s partnered with MacDougal.”

Lashley sighed. “I wish my Aurors would stop having romantic relationships with their partners,” he grumbled. “It’s against the rules for a reason. But we’ve already talked to Williamson. He’s devastated, and he has an airtight alibi.”

Harry thought for a moment, still feeling the urge to go back to London. He couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to kill Celia Warren. She’d been off of field duty, even, because when Williamson was reassigned to MacDougal, she was temporarily without a partner. She was smart, well-liked, and very good at her job. Maybe _too_ good. “She was working the Rowle case with us,” Harry said, thinking aloud. “She had been looking into Locusta’s Shield. We thought there was a leak within the Ministry. Maybe she got too close to the answer.”

Now that Harry thought about it, that seemed very plausible. This case—Rowle, the Black Knights, the potion—it was big, and they had only just started working it. Harry and Draco being stuck on administrative leave had rather hindered the investigation.

“That’s a good place to start,” Draco said. “We need to talk to the people in the Department of Mysteries that she talked to.”

Lashley nodded. “I’ll get Savage on it right away. If it’s true that her death is related to the Rowle case, then the two of you are probably also at risk,” Lashley said. “Who knew that you were going to Nice?”

“As far as I know, you, Robards, Harry, and I were the only ones who knew,” Draco replied.

“Do you have wards up on the house?” Lashley asked Draco.

“Yes,” Draco answered, nodding. “I’ll reinforce them just to be safe.”

“Okay then. You are probably safer there than anywhere else for right now. Stay there, and let us know immediately if you run into any trouble. Several Aurors are coming off of holiday tomorrow; I’ll have them available if you need backup.”

“We’ll be fine,” Malfoy said. “Keep us informed, please.”

Lashley nodded. “Let me know if you think of anything else.”

“Okay,” Draco replied. “Good luck.”

And then Lashley was gone. Harry sat there next to Draco for a long, silent moment. He could feel anger and frustration building up inside him. An Auror had just been murdered, and instead of going to help, he’d been told to stay put.

“I don’t like it any more than you do, Potter,” Draco said. “She was my friend, too. I should be there to help.”

“So let’s go then,” Harry said, relieved that Draco seemed to agree with him. He stood up, intending to go pack his bag. But Draco grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

“No, Harry. We’re going to follow orders and stay right here until Sunday night, when we were scheduled to go home.”

“What?” Harry asked, stunned. “You just said we should—”

“What I personally want to do is irrelevant, Harry. What _we_ want to do is irrelevant. Lashley ordered us to stay here. They have the case well in hand, and they don’t _need_ us there right now.”

“Don’t you care?” Harry said, his anger getting the best of him.

“Of course I care!” Draco snapped, his eyes flashing. He stood as well, squaring up to Harry. Harry could feel the heat on his wrist where Draco’s fingers had been. “I worked with Celia, too. She didn’t deserve what happened to her, and I want to find whoever was responsible and treat him to a few Malfoy speciality curses. But our boss told us to stay here. They’re working the case, they’re following our lead. We’ll just interfere and piss Lashley off if we go back now.”

Harry understood, he really did, but he couldn’t get past the ache in his gut that was telling him to go back and help. He’d liked Celia, though they weren’t close, but she was a good Auror, dependable, and devastating with her wand. He felt the urge to break something.

Draco’s fingers tightened on his wrist and Harry startled. He’d forgotten that Draco was touching him. “Don’t go do something reckless or ridiculously Gryffindorish, Harry,” Draco said, his eyes pleading.

Anger lanced through Harry, and he wrenched his arm from Malfoy’s grip. He _hated_ it when people disparaged his need to _do something_ as “Gryffindor recklessness.” “As opposed to what?” he snapped, incensed. “Hiding out here, to protect our own skin, following orders like a good little Slytherin? I think not!”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed and he stood up, hands on his hips. “And what exactly do you mean by that?” he hissed.

“What exactly did you mean by calling me a reckless Gryffindor?” Harry retorted.

“You were about to go running off to London, when we could be in danger ourselves if this is related to Rowle and the potion. I think that classifies as reckless, Harry. We’re under orders to stay here.”

“And you’re so good about following orders yourself, eh?” Harry shot back.

Draco’s eyes turned to steel. “I am not a coward, Potter,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “I’m not a terrified teenager in over my head anymore, with my parents’ lives on the line. I thought you knew that. Perhaps I was wrong about you.” He turned away from Harry and walked towards the kitchen.

Harry reeled back as if he’d been slapped. He hadn’t meant to imply anything about Draco’s actions in the war, not really… he hadn’t even been thinking about the war. “I never said anything about you being a coward, Draco,” he said. “I wouldn’t be your partner if I thought you were.”

“Whatever, Potter.” Malfoy had stopped near the dining table, and he was standing stiffly, shoulders hunched, his back to Harry.

Harry had an urge to go wrap his arms around Draco, but he didn’t think it would be welcomed. So instead he walked out the front door and down the path towards the beach. He stopped several metres up from the beach and stood on the sandy path, looking down on the Mediterranean, his thoughts jumbled, watching the way the moonlight reflected on the water. _Glittered_. He still felt numb, stung by Warren’s death.

He had thought that he and Draco were getting along really well. He felt like they were growing closer; he loved the increasing intimacy between them. The fact that they were arguing now made his heart ache and his stomach churn. He hadn’t meant to hurt Draco, not at all, and the look on Draco’s face had crushed something inside Harry. He wasn’t going to let Draco put him down, but he still felt terrible for snapping at the man he cared about so much. Draco didn’t deserve it. Malfoy was just trying to keep them safe.

Footsteps approached behind him then, and Harry could tell that Draco was standing next to him.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” he said. “I understand why you want to go back, and I didn’t mean to insult you over it. You should go if that’s what you think you should do.”

“Why do you want me to stay?” Harry asked, not turning around just yet.

“Lashley said—”

Harry cut him off. “No, Draco. Why do _you_ want me to stay here with you?”

Draco was silent for a long moment, during which Harry could literally _feel_ his gaze. When he spoke, his voice was so soft that the waves almost drowned him out. “Maybe I was having a good time with you and I don’t want it to end just yet.”

Harry turned towards Draco, his heart pounding, and he had to stifle a gasp. Draco was beautiful, yes, but in the moonlight, he was breathtaking, and Harry _wanted_ him. But he needed to apologise first.

“I didn’t mean to suggest anything about what happened during the war. I’m past all of that. I just don’t like it when people belittle my feelings. You were the one who brought up house characteristics and threw my being a Gryffindor in my face; I just returned the favour.” He stepped closer to Draco. “I shouldn’t have done that, and I’m sorry,” he continued. “I wouldn’t be here with you now if any of that still mattered to me or if I didn’t trust you. I’m proud to have you as my partner. More than that, I’m proud to have you as a friend. I’ve really been enjoying this time with you, too.”

Draco nodded at him, telling him silently that he was forgiven. Then he tilted his head and looked at Harry with sparkling eyes. “Is that what we are now? Friends?” He stepped closer to Harry, close enough that he could feel Draco’s heat in spite of the cool evening breeze.

“Yes,” Harry said, entranced.

“Just friends?” Draco asked. His face was open, inviting, and Harry couldn’t resist any more. He closed the distance between them. Draco gave a barely audible gasp but didn’t step away. Harry took just a moment to look into Draco’s eyes for any sign of rejection. The hope and desire he saw there sent a thrill down his spine.

Draco didn’t move, but he opened his mouth slightly in anticipation. Harry leant forward, letting his lips brush against Draco’s. The light caress was brief, but it made every nerve in Harry’s body light up with pleasure. His eyes opened for a moment to see Draco’s gaze searching his face. “Draco…” he whispered, not quite knowing what he wanted to say, just that he _wanted_.

“Yes…” Draco answered Harry’s unspoken question, then moved to kiss Harry, bringing his hands up to cup Harry’s face.

Draco’s kiss was forceful, urgent, and Harry knew that Draco wanted this just as much as he did. Harry opened his mouth to receive Draco, and they both groaned when their tongues met. Harry’s skin tingled where Draco’s hands touched him, and he needed more. His arms wrapped around Draco as Draco’s tongue explored his mouth; Harry wanted to feel, to _know_ every inch of Draco’s body.

Draco pushed into Harry further, growling as Harry’s hands made their way under his shirt. Harry groaned and clutched at Draco, wanting nothing more than to pull the man into his body. Draco stepped forward again, and suddenly they were falling.

Harry landed on the long grass next to the path with an “Oof!” but he couldn’t say anything else because Draco was plunging his tongue into his mouth again.

Harry yanked at Draco’s shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. 

Draco growled. “Yes. Want you.”

“Fuck yes,” Harry replied and began undoing Draco’s zip. Draco rose up on his knees and yanked Harry’s swim trunks down to his ankles, and then dropped his own denim shorts, exposing a long, lean cock that was jutting towards Harry.

Harry desperately wanted Draco to fuck him, but not out here, in the sand and grass. That would be unbearably gritty. But he couldn’t wait as long as it would take to move inside.

So he grabbed Draco’s cock and began fisting it.

Draco let out a guttural groan and threw his head back, the moonlight shining on his skin. Harry sat up and licked a nipple, feeling a thrill as it hardened under his tongue.

“Want to fuck you,” Draco moaned.

“Oh yes,” Harry answered, his body shivering at the thought. “But we need to go back inside for that, and I can’t wait that long.” He continued stroking Draco’s cock.

Draco looked down at him, his eyes silver fire. “We’ll make that round two, then,” he grinned.

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” Harry agreed.

Draco pushed Harry back onto the grass and lay down on top of him, aligning their cocks. “Together,” he breathed, “like this…” and he closed his hand around both of their erections.

Harry shuddered and moaned. He added his hand to the mix, and they began stroking each other, together, thrusting together into their joined hands.

Harry bit at Draco’s mouth, and then they were kissing again, wetly, tongues sliding and teeth clacking.

“Want… you…” Harry panted as they kissed. “Fuck… Draco…”

“Oh yes… Harry…” Draco babbled. He pulled away from the kiss and began sucking at Harry’s neck and ear, something that made Harry buck and writhe.

“I am going to fuck you so hard,” Draco breathed into Harry’s ear. “I’m going to suck you and lick you until you scream, and then I’m going to fuck you until we both explode.”

“Oh god…” Harry was about to lose it. He wrapped his legs around Draco’s hips and arched against Draco as pleasure spread from his spine down his legs. And then he was coming, gasping Draco’s name as he shuddered. He could feel Draco quivering as well, moaning, “yes, Harry, yes…”

Draco collapsed on top of him, his weight pressing Harry down into the grass. His face nuzzled into Harry’s neck. It was decidedly pleasant, Harry mused dazedly. His clean hand found its way into Draco’s hair and stroked gently down his spine. He hummed softly as aftershocks twitched through him. He could get used to this feeling with Draco. He _wanted_ to get used to it. He wanted Draco in more ways than he could count.

After a long moment of breathing together, Draco propped himself up on his elbows. He looked totally debauched, his hair sticking up crazily. Harry must have fisted it at some point. He grinned up at Draco—his lover, now—and tried to comb it out with his fingers.

Draco smiled at him and kissed him lazily. “We should go have a bath,” he mumbled into Harry’s mouth.

“Mmm, that sounds like—”

Draco bolted to his feet, his eyes wild and alert as he spun around.

“What is it?” Harry asked, startled and bereft at the loss of Draco’s weight on top of him.

“The wards are under attack,” Draco answered as he yanked his shorts back up.

“Fuck.” Harry scrambled to his feet and shook the lethargy remaining from his orgasm from his body. His swimming trunks were dangling from one ankle, and he quickly pulled them back over his hips.

“Get back to the house,” Draco said, drawing his wand.

Harry nodded and started back up the path, drawing his own wand from the waterproof pocket in his swimming trunks. He cast a Patronus as he walked, thinking about the message he wanted to send to Lashley and hoping it would be fast. _The wards at Malfoy’s house in Nice are under attack by unknown assailants. We are exposed on the beach and are moving back to the house. Send backup immediately._

“Who is it, can you tell?” Harry asked.

“No,” Draco answered. “Just that whoever it is is nearly through the wards. Hurry.”

They were about twenty feet from the front porch steps when the wards fell.

“Down!” Draco shouted as cracks of Apparation sounded around them.

Harry dove to the ground, spinning as he fell, and cast a shield charm behind them just as Draco sent off a _Stupefy_.

There were half a dozen people standing behind them in hooded cloaks, and Draco had cast at the one nearest to them. His spell landed on target, but the person kept advancing as if nothing had happened, laughing.

“Fuck, they’re on the potion!” Harry said to Draco.

“We have to get back to the house!” Draco repeated as he cast another shield charm.

Harry had a flash of inspiration and cast a wind charm at the sand at their feet. The sand flew up into the faces of their attackers. They stopped as it blew into their eyes and mouths.

“Again!” Draco ordered, his voice low.

Harry did, and Draco cast an _Incendio_ at the sand as it flew into the air. This time, hot molten flecks of glass pelted the Black Knights, burning skin and robes.

Draco grabbed Harry’s arm and pulled him towards the house while their attackers shrieked and struggled with their burning clothes and skin.

“The wards on the house itself should hold for a few minutes,” Draco panted as they raced up the porch. “Hopefully long enough for us to get help.”

Draco slammed the front door and cast several complex locking and warding spells on it. “Get anything you can use as a weapon from the kitchen. I’m going to open the Floo,” he ordered.

Harry did as he was told, grabbing all the knives he could hold.

As soon as Draco opened the Floo, several people tumbled out of it. MacDougal, Lashley, and… Ron.

“Ron!” Harry gasped, surprised but very relieved to see his friend.

Ron grinned at Harry but didn’t say anything; Lashley was taking over.

“Report!” Lashley barked.

“About six Black Knights broke through my wards. They’re all on the Locusta’s Shield potion.”

At that moment a large picture window exploded, sending missiles of glass flying everywhere. Harry ducked behind a counter, casting a shield charm to keep the falling glass from slicing him up.

“Your reinforcements will not help you,” came a deep voice.

Harry wasn’t about to give whoever this was a chance to pin them down. The Black Knights might be immune to magic, but they weren’t immune to physical objects. So they had to be creative. He looked around the counter and saw that two of the attackers were still outside on the porch, but the others had climbed through the windows and were moving around the room, trying to get a clear shot at one of them. Ron and Draco were crouched behind the sofa; Lashley had grabbed the fireplace poker and was up against the wall in the hallway. Harry couldn’t see MacDougal and hoped he wasn’t injured.

“What do you want?” came MacDougal’s voice from somewhere in the dining area.

“To tie up loose ends,” the leader said. “And a little vengeance.”

“Reducto!” Ron shouted, and Harry moved just in time to see one of the tall bookcases blasted away from the wall and fall onto one of the Black Knights.

Harry took the distraction and stood up just long enough to throw a knife at the death eater who was approaching MacDougal. It hit the man just below the right collarbone, and he went down with a pained grunt.

Unfortunately, Harry had exposed himself, and he wasn’t quite able to duck a slashing spell. Pain lanced across his left shoulder as the curse cut deeply into his bare skin.

He struggled against the rush of pain for a moment, then cast a spell to stop the blood flow. It wasn’t healed by any measure, but it would do for now. He looked around the counter again. Draco had bound the Black Knight felled by his bookcase with conjured ropes and was now hurling books at the Death Eaters while Ron shielded him.

Spells flew across the large open space, flashing blue and red and green. Harry threw another knife from behind the counter, but it was deflected with a shield charm. 

Lashley came around the hallway corner, swinging the fireplace poker like a baseball bat, and the Black Knight he connected with went down with a feminine yelp. That was three down, now.

Where was MacDougal? Harry couldn’t see Colm anywhere, and hadn’t seen him yet do anything to help. Harry needed to get over to his partners; he was too far away from them in the kitchen. Transferring his wand to his left hand and a knife to his right, he cast another _Protego_ as he dove through the dining area towards the sitting room.

And then he saw MacDougal. He was standing near the broken window, speaking quietly to the leader of the attack party, who was still outside on the porch. Alarm spiked through Harry. “MacDougal!” he shouted.

MacDougal looked over at him and sneered. Harry threw himself to the floor and rolled under a table to avoid the blasting curse MacDougal directed at him.

“Fucking bastard!” That was Draco. Harry could see that Ron was guarding Lashley now, who was bleeding from the head but still fighting.

MacDougal was the leak. Harry’s mind raced. MacDougal was a Black Knight.

“Blood traitor,” MacDougal said to Draco, his face twisted into a malevolent sneer. Then he cast a nonverbal spell that Harry didn’t recognise, and it blasted through Draco’s shield and hit him solidly in the chest.

Harry’s world contracted for a split second as he watched his lover fall. Draco was gasping for breath, clutching at his chest that was rapidly turning a violent black-purple. 

_Draco!_ Harry’s mind screamed. He crawled out from under the table towards Draco, and flung a carving knife at the Black Knight who was advancing on him now that he was in the open. This time it wasn’t deflected, and plunged into the man’s thigh. Harry conjured ropes, which wrapped themselves around him tightly, and he toppled over. He needed to get to Draco. But then Ron charged the Black Knight who was still battling with him and Lashley, picking him up bodily and smashing his head into the wall. The house shuddered with the force of the impact.

“You killed Thorfinn,” MacDougal said, drawing Harry’s attention away from Ron. MacDougal seemed to be oblivious to the other battles going on around them as he advanced towards Draco, who was still writhing on the floor, gasping for breath. “You betrayed your family, Malfoy, and you will pay. Avada—”

“No!” Harry shouted as he threw himself at MacDougal. He saw Colm’s eyes light up in surprise as he collided with him. They crashed into the wall, and Harry wrested MacDougal’s wand from his hand. He found himself holding MacDougal against the wall with a knife to his throat.

“Going to kill me, Potter?” MacDougal taunted.

“No, Harry,” came Ron’s voice from Harry’s left.

He turned around to see that it was over. The leader was gone, probably Disapparated. Draco was leaning against the sofa, still clutching at his chest, his eyes pinned on Harry. Lashley was at the Floo, calling for healers and Magical Law Enforcement.

“No, MacDougal,” Harry gritted his teeth. “I’m not going to kill you. But you are under arrest.”

Ron came over and bound MacDougal’s hands with cuffs that prevented Apparation. “Go help Malfoy, Harry,” Ron said.

Harry dropped the knife and ran over to his lover. “Draco,” he breathed as he skidded to his knees.

“Hurts… can’t breathe…” he gasped, his face twisted in pain.

Ron appeared at Harry’s side and cast a diagnostic spell. Harry looked over and saw that Lashley had bound MacDougal with ropes, and was directing the incoming Aurors on whom to take into custody. Assured that the situation was well in hand, Harry returned his full attention to Draco.

Ron frowned. “Fuck, he’s broken several ribs—”

“Not again,” Harry said to himself.

“—And one’s pierced a lung,” Ron finished, looking up at Harry, his blue eyes serious. “I can’t fix this, Harry. He needs Healers.”

“Nearest wizarding hospital is in Paris,” Lashley said, one hand wiping at the blood on his forehead. He pointed his wand at one of the books littering the floor and cast, “Portus.” He picked the book up and handed it to Harry.

“Magical Law Enforcement will finish cleaning this up,” he continued. “Weasley, stay here and coordinate with them. Potter, gather up Malfoy and come with me.”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes, mate,” Ron said as Harry wrapped his arm around Draco’s waist, trying to avoid bumping his injured ribs.

Draco tucked his head into Harry’s neck and clutched at him. They gripped the book and Harry could feel Draco’s grunt of pain as the Portkey yanked them away to the hospital.

  
**::**  


“Wow, you look trendy,” Ron said as he slumped into a waiting room chair next to Harry.

Harry looked down at himself and snorted in agreement. He had arrived at the hospital in nothing but his swimming trunks. The Healers had patched up the cut on his shoulder easily and then given him a pair of light blue hospital scrubs and slippers to wear. Apparently the Healers here had adopted Muggle medical attire, as robes tended to get in the way. The clothes were comfortable, at least. “Better than sitting here in swimming trunks and freezing,” he retorted.

“True. So what’s the story between you and Malfoy?” Ron asked, cutting past the chit-chat.

Harry looked over at his best friend, conflicted about what to say.

“You stepped in front of a killing curse for him, mate. Something big had to have happened between you for you to do that.”

Harry nearly choked. He hadn’t really realised that he’d done that. His mind flew back to the battle, and his stomach flipped as he recalled MacDougal duelling with Draco and how he’d charged right between them, interrupting a killing curse. Fuck, he was in deeper than he had thought.

“You okay, Harry?”

Harry swallowed. “Yeah… no… I don’t know.” And he proceeded to tell Ron everything. Well, not the private details, but he covered pretty much everything else that had happened between him and Draco over the past week.

Ron was left wide-eyed and speechless when Harry was done. “Wow,” he said eventually. “I can’t believe you went and fell in love with Malfoy, of all people.”

Harry choked again. “Love?” he gasped.

“Sounds like it to me,” Ron answered.

Harry knew that what he felt for Draco was intense, and as he thought about it now, the word “love” did seem to fit. He felt a smile creep over his face. He was in love with Draco.

Ron laughed at him.

“Are you okay with this?” Harry asked, feeling much more light-hearted than when Ron had sat down.

“It’s not up to me, Harry,” Ron replied. “He might have been a ferrety bastard back in school, and I’ll never be best mates with him, but I know he’s a decent bloke now. He proved that long ago. So I’ll be fine with it. But the question is: are _you_ okay with it? How serious do you think it is?”

Harry thought for a moment. The more he got to know Draco, the more he wanted him. “Pretty serious, I reckon,” he answered.

“Well, you did pick a looker, Harry; I’ll give you that,” Ron teased.

Harry grinned. “He is hot, isn’t he?”

“If you say so.”

They both laughed for a minute.

“Hermione’s going to be thrilled,” Ron said.

That reminded Harry of something. “Why are you here and not still in Melbourne?” he asked. 

“Celia,” Ron said.

“Lashley wouldn’t let us come off leave to help with her case, but you could?” Harry clarified, offended.

“Yes, but I was on personal leave. I can come back from personal leave any time I want. You two were on administrative leave, and in order for you to come back early, Lashley would have had to fill out a stack of papers justifying _why_ you were authorised to come back early.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I asked him when I got there. I knew you’d want to come help, and he pulled out a binder full of papers to show me what he’d have to do. He was swamped as it was.”

Harry nodded, accepting this information. He hated how much paperwork was involved with being an Auror, and he imagined that Lashley had twice as much as Head Auror.

At that moment, Lashley came into the room, head no longer bleeding.

Harry jumped to his feet. “How is Draco?”

“Fine. They’ve mended his ribs and healed the puncture in his lung. He’s out cold right now and will stay that way for twelve hours at least. They’re preparing to transfer him to St. Mungo’s now.”

“Good,” Harry sighed, relieved.

“Williamson has MacDougal,” Lashley continued. “He’s in a holding cell back at Headquarters. I was tempted to start the questioning tonight, but it’s late and we all need to rest. Weasley, you come with me and we’ll get things ready for the interrogation first thing tomorrow morning. The Minister has approved the use of Veritaserum, thankfully. Potter, you go with Malfoy to St. Mungo’s and get him settled in.”

Harry began to protest—he wanted to question MacDougal—but Lashley cut him off. “Tomorrow, Potter. I know you want to get answers from that traitorous bastard as much as I do. But it has been a long night and we all need to be alert when we question him. Take Malfoy to St. Mungo’s and then go home and get some sleep. We’ll start the interrogation at eight o’clock sharp.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry answered.

  
**::**  


Harry stepped into his flat feeling a bit numb. Taking Draco to St. Mungo’s had been a quick and quiet task—Draco was unconscious while his injuries were healing, and he would stay that way for some time yet. Harry was glad to be home. He did need to clean up—he could still feel the remnants of his and Draco’s seed in the fine hair on his stomach.

It felt like several days had passed since he and Draco had collapsed in the grass and… Harry’s skin went hot then cold and tightened around him as he recalled Draco on top of him, them thrusting into joined hands, bodies arching together. So much had happened since then. Harry glanced over at the clock.

“Fuck.” Only five hours had passed.

He was glad they weren’t going to interrogate MacDougal until the morning. He needed the time to figure himself out.

He’d jumped in front of a killing curse tonight to save Draco’s life, and all Harry could remember of it was the overwhelming need to protect Draco, sheer desperation to protect the person who meant the most to him in the world.

“I’m in love with Draco Malfoy,” he said to himself, testing the sound of the words and enjoying the shiver they sent down his spine. He couldn’t stop himself from grinning like a loon, because suddenly everything made sense. Draco obviously felt the same, or something close to it. Harry was fairly sure of it, anyway. It explained why Draco did what he did during the battle with Rowle, and why he invited Harry to Nice.

A warm glow suffused his body as the love he was feeling settled into his marrow. He stood there for a few minutes and indulged in it.

He couldn’t wait to see Draco when he woke up. Which wouldn’t be until lunch at the soonest. Harry looked at the clock again. It was past midnight, and he needed to go into work in the morning to question MacDougal.

He made his way into his bathroom and stripped off the hospital scrubs and his swimming trunks. In the shower, he had a long, leisurely wank to memories of Draco’s skin, his heat, his weight, his tongue, and the desire in his grey eyes.

  
**::**  


“Morning, Harry,” Ron said when Harry walked into his office. “How’s Malfoy?”

“He’s still in a healing sleep at St. Mungo’s.” Harry had stopped by on his way to work to see Draco, just in case he’d woken early, but he was still unconscious. “The nurse said that the sleeping potion would wear off around eleven.”

“So we should get some answers from MacDougal before then, because Malfoy will want to know what’s going on,” Ron replied.

“That he will. Lead the way,” Harry said, and followed Ron down the hall to the interrogation rooms.

Williamson was standing outside the door, looking in on MacDougal through the one-way glass. Lashley was in the room, across the table from MacDougal, who was glaring furiously.

“How are you holding up, Erik?” Harry asked.

Williamson turned bloodshot eyes to Harry and Ron. His long hair was stringy and tangled, pulled back into a messy ponytail. He was paler than normal, and it appeared that he hadn’t looked at his clothes before getting dressed—he was wearing a dingy white t-shirt with yellow stains on the front and denims with holes in the knees underneath his characteristic red Auror robes, which were not fastened. “He’s going to be in Azkaban for a very long time,” he said. “But that isn’t enough for me. Not for what he did.”

Harry understood, and placed a hand on Erik’s shoulder. MacDougal had probably killed Celia, Erik’s ex-girlfriend and ex-partner, and someone whom he still cared for very much. Not to mention betraying his partner and the Aurors. Harry wanted the punishment to be severe, too.

Lashley came out of the room then and looked relieved to see Harry and Ron. “Williamson, go home. Savage and Weasley can take over from here.”

Harry turned around and saw that Mortimer Savage, a senior Auror, had come up behind them while Harry had been talking to Erik.

“No,” Williamson said. “I’ll stay out here and watch, but I’m not going home until I’ve heard his confession.”

Lashley held his gaze for a hard moment, then nodded. “Savage, Weasley,” he’s been dosed with Veritaserum and has magic-dampening restraints on. Find out everything he knows about the potion, Warren’s death, and the Black Knights. I want to know how much of that potion they have, who made it, how they made it, how long it takes to make more, and I want to know how many people have access to it. Get me names and locations. Potter, you’re still on leave. If you want to watch, you can, but you are not to participate in the questioning.”

Harry nodded and stepped over to stand next to Erik and allow Ron and Mortimer to enter the interrogation room. 

“I’ll be in my office, working on the mountains of paperwork I have to do for this case,” Lashley said as he watched as Ron and Savage sit down at the table in front of MacDougal. Let me know if you need me for anything.”

“Okay,” Harry answered.

Lashley nodded and walked down the hall towards his office.

“Savage, Weasley,” MacDougal sneered. “I’m surprised to see the two of yeh. You’re busy wiping the snotty noses of the babies in training,” he said to Mortimer, then looked at Ron. “And you’re supposed to be gallivantin’ off in Australia.”

Ron ignored this. “Did you kill Celia Warren?” he asked.

“Aye.” MacDougal was clearly angry, but the answer came through anyway.

Beside Harry, Erik stiffened and clutched at the windowsill, his knuckles going white. “Fucking bastard,” he muttered.

“Why?” asked Ron.

“She tracked the Locusta’s Shield potion to me and discovered that I was workin’ with the Black Knights.”

“How did she find out?” Mortimer probed.

“I don’t know, and frankly, I don’t bloody care.”

“Tell us your theory on the issue, then,” Ron said.

“I figure she spoke with someone in the Department of Mysteries and found out that I’d seen the research on it.” He leaned back in his chair and affected an air of someone supremely unconcerned with the goings-on.

“The Department of Mysteries was not able to get the potion to work right. Did you perfect it?” Ron asked.

“No.”

“Who did?” Savage asked.

“Rabastan Lestrange.”

“He’s dead!” Ron and Mortimer said at the same time. Harry had just gasped the same thing out in the hall, and would have snickered about them all speaking in unison if it wasn’t such a serious situation.

“No, he isn’t,” MacDougal sneered triumphantly. “He just managed to make it look that way.”

There was silence for a moment while this news was absorbed. Harry’s heart thudded in his throat. Rabastan Lestrange supposedly had died in the Battle of Hogwarts. Harry didn’t know the details, but he vowed silently to look into the evidence of his death to determine how everyone was fooled. Rabastan was not insane like his brother and sister-in-law, but he was cunning, vicious, and very dangerous. They definitely had a problem on their hands if he was free and recruiting.

“Where is Lestrange now?” Savage asked.

“I don’t know.” MacDougal seemed very pleased that he did not know the answer.

“Last time you did know, where was he?” Ron asked.

“Last I saw him he was on Malfoy’s porch. Don’t know where he Apparated to.”

“Where are his hideouts?”

MacDougal listed off several addresses, which Ron wrote down on a piece of parchment that then flew under the door and folded itself into a memo, winging off down the hall towards Lashley’s office. Harry knew that Aurors would be dispatched immediately.

“Why did you do this, Colm?” Savage asked. “Tell me everything.”

MacDougal glowered at him, but words spilled forth anyway. “Mudbloods are destroying our culture. Outlawing the Dark Arts to protect their ignorance and delicate sensibilities was a mistake—we’ve lost our heritage and our power because of it. The potion was supposed to protect us while we removed them and their influence. It was never supposed to be discovered. Rowle should have been able to kill Potter and Malfoy, and he should have escaped and left no evidence of the potion. It would have made our forces invincible, and make others take notice of our power.

“But Malfoy killed Rowle somehow, and you discovered the potion, which I did not know for sure until Celia tracked me down. I had to eliminate all knowledge of it, and I killed her. I overheard Potter and Malfoy planning to go to Nice in the pub—they thought I was passed out drunk. I told Lestrange where they were going and he arranged for others to track them. They were able to locate Malfoy’s house. I stayed here in London to sabotage their defence from the inside. I still don’t understand how they managed to win.”

“There’s more to being a good Auror than magic, MacDougal,” Savage said.

“There’s more to being a _wizard_ than magic,” Ron added. “That’s something you pureblood supremacists never seem to understand. Blood and magic isn’t everything.”

MacDougal scoffed but didn’t say anything. Harry knew that there was no convincing him, and silently urged Ron and Mortimer to move on to more important questions.

Ron did. “Clearly, that’s an issue we won’t agree on. So let’s talk about Locusta’s Shield. How much do the Black Knights have? Who has access to it?”

“We have enough to fight anyone off for months,” MacDougal answered, looking smug.

“Be precise. How much do you have?” Ron demanded.

“I don’t know the precise amount, sorry. But Rabastan has told me we have plenty in reserve.” He grinned.

“Fuck,” Harry swore softly to himself. Beside him, Erik grunted in agreement.

“Tell me who else is in the Black Knights,” Savage instructed.

MacDougal glowered, but answered anyway. “Rabastan Lestrange. Andrew Jugson. Calvin Yaxley. Miles Bletchley, Terence Higgs, Marcus Flint, Adrian Pucey, Tracey Davis, Terry Boot, Theodore Nott. There are more, but I don’t know all of their names.”

Harry was fuming at the names he recognised, particularly Terry Boot. Dammit, Harry had dated him shortly after discovering he was gay, and Terry hadn’t seemed like one to join up with the Black Knights. At least it had been short lived, and they hadn’t had sex. Maybe that was why they felt so incompatible.

A hand fell on Harry’s shoulder then and startled Harry out of his brooding. He turned around to see Lashley standing there, a grim look on his face. “We’ll find them all,” he said. “I just heard from St. Mungo’s,” Lashley changed the subject. “Malfoy is awake and asking for you.”

Harry’s heart skipped, all anger vanishing at the thought of seeing his lover again, awake and well.

Lashley rolled his eyes, and Harry knew that Lashley knew something was up between him and Draco. “Yes, you can go. You’re not supposed to be here, anyway.”

“Thank you, sir,” Harry replied, relieved that he wasn’t going to get a lecture about being involved with his partner.

Lashley smiled. “I’ll make sure we find out everything the traitor has to say. You just go take care of Malfoy.”

Harry grinned and ran down the hall.

  
**::**  


When Harry walked into Draco’s room, his lover was sitting up in his bed and talking to a Healer who was checking his injuries.

“Can you breathe easily?” the Healer asked.

Draco took a deep breath. “There’s a slight ache, but it doesn’t _hurt_.” Draco looked over at Harry then, and his eyes lit up.

“Your ribs will be tender for another day at least. You should avoid strenuous exercise for a couple of days, but then you’ll be fine to resume your normal activities.”

“Good. When can I leave?”

“We need to apply one more dose of salve to your ribs, and once that’s soaked in, we’ll process your discharge paperwork. You’ll be all set to go back to work on Monday.”

“So much for having a bit of a holiday,” Draco grumbled.

Harry chuckled. Draco looked over at him and grinned.

“A nurse will be in with that salve in a few minutes, Mr. Malfoy,” the Healer said, then walked out the door.

Suddenly Harry was very nervous. He closed the door behind the Healer to give them some privacy, and then turned to face Draco. “I came this morning to see you, but you were still unconscious,” Harry said stupidly.

“I know. They told me,” Draco replied, and Harry could hear the hitch of nerves in his voice.

They stared at each other for a long, awkward moment, and then Draco smiled. “Come here.”

Harry stepped forward and found himself pulled into Draco’s arms. “You stupid, brave, infuriating Gryffindor,” Draco breathed into Harry’s hair. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Harry laughed, enjoying the smell of Draco’s skin underneath the scent of medicinal rub. “You’re the one who nearly died, Draco,” Harry answered in a choked whisper. “I don’t think I could have taken it.”

Draco’s arms tightened around Harry, and then Harry pulled back enough to see Draco’s eyes. His heart fluttered at the emotion he saw there—love, relief, affection…

Their brush of lips was interrupted by the door opening. Harry startled and sat down in the chair next to Draco’s bed.

The intruder was a nurse who was backing into the room with a small trolley filled with jars and pots. “Mr. Malfoy?” she asked as she turned around.

Draco was frowning at the interruption. “Yes?”

“I have more potions for you,” she said, moving around the bed and handing Draco a small bottle. This will help with any lingering pain.”

Draco swallowed the potion with a grimace.

“And given that you’ve broken ribs twice in the last week, this is to strengthen the mending in the bones.” She handed him another small bottle, which Draco downed in one gulp.

She picked up a pot of salve off the trolley then and gestured to Draco’s top. “Off with that now, I need to apply this—”

“No,” Draco interrupted. “Give it to Harry. He’ll apply it.”

“Mr. Malfoy—” she protested.

“It just has to be rubbed over my ribs, correct?”

“Well yes, but—”

“I’d feel more comfortable if Harry did it, thank you,” Draco insisted.

She sighed. Obviously she could see the determination in Draco’s face, because she capitulated. “Very well. Mr. Potter, gently rub this salve into Mr. Malfoy’s entire rib cage, from his sternum in the front and around his back. Be sure to rub gently, particularly where there is bruising. It will need to set in for at least half an hour, and then you’ll be able to go home.”

She handed the pot over to Harry and then bustled out of the room with the trolley. She gave Harry a little wink as she closed the door.

“Couldn’t wait to have my hands on you?” Harry quipped.

“No, I couldn’t,” Draco smirked.

Harry was surprised into silence; he hadn’t expected Draco to admit it so readily.

“We need to talk, Harry,” Draco said.

“I know. Lean forward and I’ll put this on your back.” Harry sat on the edge of the bed next to the headboard and unscrewed the lid of the salve.

Draco scooted down the bed a little and leaned forward, and Harry untied the fabric holding the hospital pyjama top together. The sides of the shirt fell forward as Harry brushed his hands across Draco’s shoulders, and Harry stifled a gasp. What had clearly been very deep bruises ran down both sides of Draco’s back, long yellow-blue fingers reaching towards his spine.

“Fuck, Draco,” he breathed.

“You should see it on this side,” came a wry retort.

Harry moved further down the bed to look at Draco’s chest. The bruising was deeper here, a mottled purple-brown-yellow over his sternum.

“It was a crushing hex,” Draco said. “He tried to cave in my chest, but going through my shield charm weakened it.”

“Are you okay?” Harry practically squeaked.

“Yes, I'm fine. I’m not in any pain. The bones have healed, and this salve will help the bruising fade.”

Harry moved behind Draco again and dipped his fingers into the ointment. It was cool, so he rubbed it between his hands for a moment to warm it up. Draco propped his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands, leaning forward so Harry could have better access to his back. Harry began massaging the salve into Draco’s skin, feeling immensely relieved as the bruising began to fade further under his fingers.

“Mmm…” Draco hummed. “Feels good.”

Harry agreed fully, though he would prefer Draco’s skin to be unmarred. “I think I understand why you did what you did with Rowle, now,” he said after a long moment filled only with the sounds of them breathing and the squelching of the ointment as Harry applied it to Draco’s back.

Draco gave a soft laugh. “I didn’t understand it myself, not at first. I didn’t have an answer for you when you asked me about it the first time. I just knew that I didn’t want you to die. I leapt at him before my mind could process what I was doing.”

“Do you understand it now?” Harry asked.

“Yes.” Draco was silent for a moment, and then continued, his face still resting in his hands. “I realised that I cared about you, Harry, more deeply than I’ve ever cared about anyone else other than my parents. You’d become a friend, but it’s more than that. I…. I wanted to be closer to you, to understand why you’ve become so important to me, so I invited you to come with me to France. And the more time I spent with you outside of work, the stronger my feelings for you grew.”

Harry had finished with Draco’s back, so he stood up and moved down the bed. “Go ahead and lie back now, so I can do your front.”

Draco looked up at him, his face intense. Harry kissed him, just a brief press of lips, reassuring Draco that the feeling was mutual. “I feel the same way about you,” he whispered against Draco’s mouth, and Draco moaned softly and kissed him harder.

Before they could get too involved, though, Harry withdrew from the kiss and pressed on Draco’s collar bone to get him to lie back on the bed. The blond fell back against the pillows, his face flushed and his eyes intense. Harry began rubbing the ointment onto Draco’s chest, watching the deep purple bruising fade gradually under his fingers. “I needed to know why you stepped in front of a killing curse for me,” he said, focusing on his hands rather than Draco’s face. “I knew there was something more to it than what you’d said, and I _needed_ to understand what had happened. I wanted to know you better, so I jumped at the chance to spend time with you. And I found myself caring for you more deeply than I ever imagined. When MacDougal tried to kill you, I had to stop him because I couldn’t stand to be without you.”

Draco sat up then and forced Harry to meet his gaze. Harry’s breath hitched in his throat at the emotions he saw there. “Harry, are you saying that you love me?” Draco asked, his voice a whisper.

Harry smiled, his heart soaring. “Yes. And you love me, don’t you?”

Draco nodded and his eyes grew dark. “Very much so.” And then Draco was kissing him again, claiming him with deep strokes of his tongue. Harry was swept up in the taste, the feel of Draco, and moaned as hands wound into his hair and tugged gently.

They broke apart after a long moment, pressing their foreheads together, and Draco panted against Harry’s lips. “You had better finish with that salve, because as soon as we get out of here, we are going to finish what we started on the beach.” 

Blood rushed to Harry’s groin, but he leant away from Draco to gain some emotional distance. “Draco, the Healer said no strenuous exercise,” he cautioned, looking again at the bruising on Draco’s chest. It had faded quite a bit from the ointment, but was still very visible.

“I promised you I was going to fuck you, Harry,” Draco answered. 

“Among other things,” Harry replied, shivering at the memory.

Draco’s eyes dilated again. “Ooh, Harry, you like that idea, don’t you? You want my mouth on you.”

Harry shifted to ease the pressure on his cock, which was achingly hard and pointing in the wrong direction, and Draco smirked as if Harry had just proven his point. “Merlin, you are such a tease, Draco. But I’m more concerned about not hurting you.” He resumed rubbing the ointment into Draco’s chest, running his fingers up Draco’s side, rubbing salve into the skin beneath his armpit. 

“I’m sure we can manage it without hurting me,” Draco reassured. “My ribs are healed completely, and by the time you’re finished with that salve, most of the bruising will be gone.” He paused to take a deep breath, and his face grew serious.

“Harry, our weekend away together was ruined by MacDougal. We have to report back to work day after tomorrow, and I want to salvage what we can of our remaining time off. I promise you that I will take you away for a dirty weekend again some time very soon, but for now I just want to be with you. _I want you_.”

Harry’s smile was overflowing. “I want you, too. Do you want to come over to my place?”

“I would love to, Harry,” Draco answered. “I just need to get some clothes from my flat first.”

Harry smiled. “Deal. We have a bit before we can leave, though,” he said, and pushed Draco to lie back against the bed again. He resumed rubbing ointment into Draco’s chest then, reaching around to massage his far side, feeling relief and desire run through him as the swollen flesh receded to normal under his fingers.

“So tell me what happened with MacDougal,” Draco said.

“He confessed to killing Warren, to being the leak to the Black Knights, and to trying to kill you and me. But the big surprise is that the man who stayed out on the porch at your house was Rabastan Lestrange.”

“What?” Draco gasped, sitting up straight again. “He’s dead.”

“Apparently not,” Harry replied. “I’m sure Ron is still grilling MacDougal for all the details. I wasn’t there for the entire interrogation; I left when we had word you were awake. Probably shouldn’t have been there anyway, because I’m still on leave.”

Draco snorted in amusement.

“He didn’t even seem to be trying to resist the Veritaserum,” Harry continued. “Seemed proud of what he did.”

“Rabastan was the one who perfected the Locusta’s Shield potion, wasn’t he?” Draco asked, eyes shrewd.

Harry nodded.

Draco gave him a triumphant grin. “Good. Rabastan tutored me in potions for years—I know his techniques by heart. I might be able to find out how he got the potion to work. And if I can do that, hopefully I can figure out how to counter it.”

Harry felt a rush of affection. Draco’s eyes were lit with the challenge, like he couldn’t wait to tackle the potion, and Harry was struck once again at how beautiful he was. “I’m sure you’ll be able to figure it out once we get back to work.”

“Yes, I’m looking forward to it, but I’m happy to leave it until Monday. Do you know whether Lestrange was apprehended?”

“No, I don’t,” Harry answered. “I know that Aurors and Magical Law Enforcement officers were dispatched to the various locations that MacDougal gave, but I don’t know how the raids went.”

“I’m sure we’ll hear on Monday,” Draco mused.

“Yeah,” Harry answered, wondering how many of the Black Knights and former Death Eaters they had managed to capture and how much tracking he would be doing next week.

At that moment the same nurse who had brought them the salve came back into the room. “Let’s have a look at you, Mr Malfoy,” she said, bustling around to the other side of the bed. She examined his chest, poking her fingers into his ribs, and Draco hissed.

“Did that hurt?” she asked.

“Not really,” Draco answered, his face flushing slightly. “Tickled a bit.”

Harry hid a grin, saving that information for later. He moved his chair away from the bed and up against the wall so the nurse could manoeuvre around Draco easier. She continued her examination, running her hands over Draco’s sternum. She hummed in approval, and then ran a diagnostic scan with her wand.

“Okay, Mr Malfoy, you are free to go home,” she said after another few scans. “Come back if you have any further pain or trouble with your chest.”

“Thank you,” Draco said, pulling the hospital shirt over his shoulders. “How long do I have to leave this ointment on? I feel greasy.”

“At least another half an hour. Then you can wash it off,” she answered, then made her way towards the door.

“Okay,” Draco nodded, sending Harry a smouldering glance when the nurse wasn’t looking. As soon as she was out of the room, Draco slid off the bed and walked over to Harry, desire in his every movement. “It seems I will be needing a bath shortly,” he said, sotto voce. 

“I have a large jetted bathtub,” Harry answered. “Room enough for two.”

“Mmm, sounds lovely.” Draco leaned in and nibbled on Harry’s ear. “I’m going home to put together an overnight bag,” he said, looking at Harry for indication of whether this was okay or not.

Harry answered him by kissing him deeply, tongues caressing.

Draco clutched at him, hands winding up into his hair, and they both moaned.

Harry recalled where they were—a room in St. Mungo’s with a wide-open door—and pulled back. Draco licked his lips one last time.

“I will meet you at your place in half an hour, Harry. What’s your Floo address?”

“Potter Loft,” Harry answered.

“Good. Have the bath ready when I get there, yeah?” Draco breathed, his lips brushing against Harry’s.

“Yes,” Harry answered, then deepened the kiss again. He could barely control himself; his entire body was sparking with desire.

Draco pulled away with a gasp. “I can’t wait to get my hands on you,” he said. “So you go on ahead and I’ll see you shortly.”

Harry nodded, barely able to contain his glee. Draco gave him one last look that sent shivers straight to his cock, and then pushed him towards the door, one hand on his arse. Harry grinned at him, whispering, “My arse will be all yours as soon as you get there, so make it quick. I don’t want to wait any longer to have you inside me.”

Draco groaned, his eyes fluttering closed, and Harry smirked; Draco wasn’t the only one who could tease. “Just go, prat,” he said, biting at Harry’s chin. “Before I lose all self-control and take you here against the wall.”

Fuck if that didn’t make Harry’s knees tremble. Draco smirked at his reaction and pushed him out the door. “I’ll see you and your arse in a few minutes.” 

Harry laughed breathily and adjusted his trousers. He gave Draco one last kiss, then practically ran to the nearest Floo.

  
**::**  


Once home, Harry quickly straightened up his flat, not that it was all that messy to start with, but he wanted to give Draco a good impression. He made sure the sheets on the bed were fresh, put on some soft music, and went into the bathroom to prepare.

He was a bundle of nerves; his body was tingling with anticipation. He felt jittery as he cleaned his teeth and made sure his body was ready for what was coming. His erection, persistent since he’d left Draco at St. Mungo’s, throbbed, shooting aches of longing down the insides of his thighs. He was tempted to take care of it himself—it wouldn’t take much—but he wanted to wait for Draco.

He began filling the tub, feeling grateful that he’d splurged on it when he had it installed. He’d always wanted to enjoy it with someone else, but until now, no one that he’d dated was important to him enough to him for him to bathe with. He smiled, thinking about how much Draco meant to him, and added a potion to the bath that relaxed the muscles but was invigorating at the same time.

Harry then changed into soft pyjama bottoms that hung low on his hips, put a spell on the bathwater to keep it warm, and went into the sitting room to wait for Draco.

He didn’t have to wait long. The fireplace erupted in green flame, and Draco stepped through, wearing a light blue robe and carrying a small bag. Upon seeing Harry, the blond growled. “Happy to see me?” he asked, stepping up to Harry and palming his cock through his pyjama pants.

Harry groaned. “Fuck, yes. Want you.”

Draco kissed him possessively, claiming him with his tongue. Harry whimpered and pulled Draco closer, bumping their hips together. Harry couldn’t wait any longer. He’d been hard and wanting Draco for what felt like days. He grabbed Draco’s robe and used it to steer him onto the sofa.

“Harry!” Draco gasped as he fell back. “Let’s go to the bath,” he protested, but Harry cut him off by climbing on top of him and plunging his tongue into his mouth. Draco greedily accepted this and slid his hands under the elastic of Harry’s pyjamas to clutch at his arse.

Harry hummed his approval to this and began divesting Draco of his clothing. He was pleased to see pale, unblemished skin when he opened Draco’s shirt, though he could feel the residue of the bruise salve.

Yes, they needed to head to the bath, but Harry needed release now. He quickly undid Draco’s trousers and dove to suck his cock into his mouth as soon as he freed it from the fabric.

“Fuck!” Draco cursed, arching his hips up into Harry.

Harry had yet to manage deep-throating, but he pulled Draco as far into his mouth as he could manage, lapping at the salty fluid that seeped from the head. He could smell Draco here, his musk, his _sex_ , and it made his head spin with desire.

Hands fisted in his hair and pulled, forcing Harry to release Draco’s cock. He looked up Draco’s body and met blown silver eyes.

“Turn around so I can suck on you, too,” Draco panted.

“Brilliant,” Harry said. He stood, kicked off his pants, and then straddled Draco’s face. A warm, wet tongue lapped at his balls before caressing his cock. Harry hissed his pleasure and dropped down onto his elbows, careful not to let his weight rest on Draco’s torso. He licked a long line down Draco’s cock, then drew it into his mouth again, and began working it with tongue and fist, his other hand caressing Draco’s balls.

Beneath him, Draco writhed. He groaned in pleasure around Harry’s cock, and shifted until Harry could feel his cock slide into Draco’s throat.

 _Holy fuck_ , Harry thought. Draco was encouraging Harry to fuck his mouth, his hands reaching around to tease at his entrance.

The pleasure was building now, nearly overwhelming Harry. He struggled to maintain his control—he wanted to make Draco come first—but the soft fingers teasing around his anus were unravelling him. Fuck, Draco knew how to play dirty. So he returned the favour, squeezing Draco’s cock more firmly, paying extra attention to the head, and slid his other hand below Draco’s balls to tease his perineum and entrance.

Draco grunted in pleasure, opening his legs wider to give Harry better access, and then retaliated by pressing a saliva-slickened finger up into Harry, finding his prostate within seconds.

Harry bellowed his shock around Draco’s cock, and began fucking his mouth in earnest. He was blessed with a very sensitive prostate—he could come from prostate stimulation alone—and Draco quickly figured out exactly how to stroke it to drive Harry wild. Waves of pleasure crashed through his body, and Harry felt his muscles tense in preparation for his orgasm. Beneath him, Draco was tensing as well, his balls drawing up tightly to his body. Harry sucked harder and pressed on Draco’s perineum again, and was rewarded with a muffled whine and come flooding his mouth.

The taste of Draco was Harry’s undoing. His orgasm ripped through him, shattering him. He wasn’t able to focus on swallowing, and come dribbled from his mouth onto his hand and Draco’s groin as he rode out his climax, thrusting into Draco’s throat. They continued to move with each other, hips jerking softly as they came down from their high.

Harry collapsed forward, then rolled off of Draco and onto the floor. Fucking hell, that had been intense. He glanced up at Draco, who was still sprawled on the sofa, breathing heavily, eyes closed, and he grinned. He’d needed that release, but it had only served to ratchet his anticipation up a notch. He’d never had a lover so in tune with his body, and they hadn’t even got to proper fucking yet. If it was already this good, he couldn’t wait to see what came next. His cock gave a twitch at that thought, and he had to stifle a giggle.

His muffled snort roused Draco from his languor. “Couldn't wait, could you?” he drawled, his voice gravelly from the deep-throating.

Harry sat up and grinned at his lover. Draco was propped up on his elbows, his hair in disarray, his shirt half on and his trousers hanging off of one leg. His skin glistened with sweat and salve, and he looked thoroughly debauched and quite happy about it.

“Nope, I couldn’t,” Harry agreed. “Are you complaining?”

“Not at all.” Draco smiled at him and sat up, running a hand through his hair. “Ugh, I do think I need that bath now, though,” he said, noticing the cooling come that spattered his groin. “And so do you,” he smirked, reaching over to Harry and wiping come off his face.

Harry licked at Draco’s fingers, loving the look of shock and desire that flashed across his face. He could tell that Draco hadn’t expected Harry to be so aggressive, and that he liked it. “The bath is ready; I spelled it to stay warm,” he said when Draco withdrew his hand. He was perfectly content to let Draco be in charge, now that he’d taken the edge off. He did enjoy being the dominant one, but what he _really_ wanted was to be able to trust someone enough to let go, to let his lover be in charge. It wasn’t about topping or bottoming for him—he loved doing both—but sometimes he wanted to control, and other times he wanted to be controlled. Right now, he wanted Draco to have his way with his body. He trusted Draco with his life—he’d never been with anyone he trusted as much. It was a heady feeling, knowing that he would gladly submit to Draco’s whims. He would want to be in charge at some point later, to reduce Draco to a pile of quivering flesh, but right now, he wanted to follow Draco’s lead.

Draco was studying Harry’s face, watching the play of desire that Harry didn’t try to hide. “You want me, don’t you, Harry?”

“Oh yes,” Harry answered. _In every sense of the word_ , he thought.

“Show me to the bathroom, then,” Draco ordered, his smile predatory.

Harry stood up and helped Draco to his feet. Draco kicked off his trousers and left them on the floor, and followed Harry to the bathroom in just his shirt and socks. Harry kept glancing at Draco’s cock, hanging heavy below his shirt tails. It wasn’t full yet, but was partially there. Harry’s own cock throbbed. Draco caught him looking and merely smirked at him, eyeing Harry’s cock in return.

Once in the bathroom, Harry helped himself to a glass of water while Draco finished undressing. He then refilled the glass and handed it to his lover.

“Oh thank you,” Draco said after swallowing three large gulps. He set the glass down on the sink and then stepped into the bathtub, sliding down into the water with a pleased hum. “Join me, Harry,” he said, gesturing behind him.

Harry sank into the water behind Draco, arranging them so Draco reclined against his chest. The water was deep, coming up to their armpits, and Harry reached over and turned on the jets.

Draco sighed loudly. “I think I love this tub, Harry.”

Harry laughed. “I do, too.”

They laid in quiet lassitude for several minutes, Harry enjoying the feel of Draco against him.

Eventually, Draco spoke. “So tell me about life after Ginny.”

Harry smiled, knowing that Draco wanted to find out more about his love life. “Well, the revelation that I was gay was rather earth-shattering. The Weasleys accepted it pretty much without complaint, though I suspect that Molly mourned the loss of her hoped-for Potter grandchildren. Hermione went right out and bought me as many books on being gay and gay sex as she could find. That was terribly embarrassing, but very helpful. Ron was a bit weird for a couple of days, but then he started trying to set me up.

“I am not ashamed of being gay, but at the same time, I don’t want it splashed all over the headlines.”

“You’ve done a good job of keeping it quiet,” Draco said. “I had no idea until you told me, though I suspected a bit before that.”

Harry nodded. “It has taken a lot of effort to keep it out of the papers. My first forays into dating were very discreet. I tried seeing wizards, but I found that most of them got hung up on the fact that I was ‘Harry Potter, The Saviour,’ war hero.”

“Who?” Draco asked.

“Well, there were several guys that lasted only one or two dates, including Justin Finch-Fletchley and Terry Boot, who MacDougal just outed as a Black Knight, by the way.”

“Really?” Draco asked. “Never would have pegged him for one to sign on with them. But let’s not talk about that now. Continue.”

“Okay,” Harry sighed. He was perfectly happy to avoid that topic for the moment. “Anyway, nothing happened with any of them because they didn’t understand my need to just be a normal person, and I’m even happier about that now. My first was Oliver Wood. He understood that I didn’t want to become front page news, and he taught me a lot. It wasn’t ever serious; he was gone far too much with Quidditch, but for the short while that we dated, it was okay. No deep connection. We both knew right from the start that it was just for fun. He’s engaged to one of his teammates now.”

Draco nodded and entwined their fingers together on his chest, but didn’t say anything, waiting for Harry to continue.

“After that, I tried seeing Muggles. They didn’t have the hero complex that wizards do. Nothing serious happened there, either, although I gained plenty of experience and learned a lot about my preferences. But I never felt deeply enough for any of them to share the truth about who I am as a wizard.

“I spent a lot of time being single, too. Particularly during Auror training. I spent most of my spare time then with you on Potions review.”

“I was surprised at how much I enjoyed that time with you, Harry,” Draco said. “For the first time we actually worked together and got along, and that’s when I first realised that you were not who I’d thought you were during school.”

Harry smiled and pressed a kiss to Draco’s neck. “Me, too.” It had been the start of them not hating each other. “You really helped me understand Potions better, and once we put aside our past, I enjoyed it, too.”

Draco sat up then and reached for a flannel. He handed it to Harry, saying, “Wash my back?”

Harry wet it and soaped it up. “What about you?” he asked as he rubbed the cloth across Draco’s back.

“I dated Pansy and Blaise both during school,” Draco said. “Pansy because it was expected of me, and Blaise because he was so attractive. I knew I preferred men pretty early on.

“Everything changed after the war. No one would come near me, so I was forced to enter the Muggle dating scene, too. It really opened my eyes to the fact that even though they are not wizards, they’re still human. They didn’t look down on me as Lucius’ evil spawn, as a Death Eater worth spitting on. I met several really decent chaps that way. I never had any real relationships, though I did still see Blaise every now and then. But not since he married Daphne. He’s mostly straight, anyway. Most of the time, though, when I wasn’t working to re-build my standing in wizarding society, I spent time figuring out who I was. Me, Draco Malfoy, outside of my father’s shadow. Learning for myself about life, magic, Muggles, and relationships. Learning that money isn’t the most important thing in life. He was so surprised when I applied to the Auror Corps, but after the choices he made, he had no right to question mine.”

“What about your mother?” Harry asked, still rubbing the flannel across Draco’s skin.

“She has never once stopped supporting me,” Draco answered.

“She loves you very much,” Harry said, remembering Narcissa’s desperation to find Draco during the Battle of Hogwarts.

“I know,” Draco said. “She stood up for me to my father after he got out of Azkaban, and she forbade him to continue to try to direct my life. She’s the reason I had the freedom to find out who I wanted to be.”

“So no great loves in your life?” Harry asked.

“No, not until you,” Draco said, turning around in the tub to face Harry, his eyes intense.

Harry ran the cloth across Draco’s chest, needing a moment to breathe.

“I fell in love with you without knowing it was happening, Harry,” Draco said. “Imagine my surprise.”

Harry grinned, feeling like his chest was ready to burst open and overflow the love inside him. “I don’t have to imagine it, Draco, because I felt the same way when I realised I was in love with you.”

Draco lunged forward and kissed him hard, causing water to slop over the edge of the tub. Harry wrapped his legs around Draco and clutched at him, wanting him closer, achingly aroused again. He sucked greedily at Draco’s tongue, then his throat and ear.

“What did I say I was going to do to you, Harry?” Draco whispered in his ear.

Harry groaned. “Suck me, lick me, fuck me,” he answered, rubbing his cock against Draco’s stomach.

“Mmm, yes,” Draco growled. “I already sucked you, so now I’m going to lick you, fuck you with my tongue. I want to taste you.”

“Oh yes, please,” Harry whimpered. The mere thought of it made him quake.

“God, you want it, don’t you?” Draco gasped in astonishment.

“Fuck yes, want you,” Harry panted.

Draco sat up then and grabbed a towel from the rack, laying it on the edge of the bathtub. “Bend over this, Harry, arse in the air.”

Harry scrambled to obey, slopping more water around. He grabbed another towel and put it on the floor, and then lowered his upper body over the edge of the bathtub onto the towel. He spread his knees as wide as he could get them. It wasn’t very comfortable, and he couldn’t reach his cock this way—it was dangling against the side of the bathtub, hanging into the water—but he felt wanton, sluttish. He arched his hips, feeling the anticipation shiver through him.

“Fucking hell, Harry,” Draco breathed, desire in every syllable. “You’re so hot!”

“Mmm...” Harry replied. “Want you.”

He could feel Draco hovering behind him, feel his breath on his arse cheeks. The first touch came as Draco mouthed his balls, and Harry yelped in surprise. The velvet tongue laved first one then the other, and then moved up towards his crack. It swiped a long line from his perineum all the way up to the small of his back, before dropping down to his anus. Draco kept his tongue flat, licking broad stripes across his entrance. Harry's hole clenched and released, trembling, wanting to draw Draco’s tongue in further, but Draco refused. Harry whimpered and writhed. “Feels so good,” he mumbled.

“Tastes good,” Draco mouthed against his skin. 

Shocks of pleasure rocketed over Harry as Draco continued, gradually pressing further into his body. Harry was moaning, groaning, unable to speak coherently. He pressed backwards, desperate for more of Draco’s tongue. 

Draco hummed in pleasure against him, and finally thrust his tongue fully into Harry’s body. Harry bellowed and spasmed, blinded with lust as that magnificent tongue slid in and out of him. It was too much and not enough all at the same time.

Fingers joined the tongue then, and Harry felt himself deliciously stretched. The tongue withdrew, but the fingers remained, twisting and rotating, fucking Harry and reaching for his prostate.

“You could come just from this, couldn’t you, Harry?” Draco asked, rubbing firmly over Harry’s prostate.

Harry bucked against those fingers, growling, unable to speak. He was so close; he was going to explode.

Draco removed his fingers then and pulled on his balls, halting Harry’s impending orgasm. Harry nearly wailed at the loss.

“You’re not coming again until I’m inside you,” Draco said, getting to his feet and stepping out of the tub. Harry could see that Draco’s cock was swollen and purple, and he _wanted_ it. He couldn’t think very well at the moment, but he managed to pull his lust-blown mind together enough to get up, dry off, and pull Draco into his bedroom.

He dug in his bedside table for the lube and handed it to Draco. “How do you want me?” he asked, breathily.

“On your back, on the bed,” Draco ordered as he slicked himself up. “I want to watch your face when you come.”

Harry clambered onto the bed and laid on his back, pulling his knees up to his chest.

“Oh fuck,” Draco breathed. He climbed onto the bed and settled between Harry’s legs. “Are you ready for me?”

“Please yes,” Harry begged, his eyes riveted to Draco’s face. Draco’s eyes were roving over his body hungrily, his skin flushed pink.

Their eyes locked as Draco pushed inside Harry, and Harry gasped at the intimacy of it, of watching Draco’s face as they joined. Draco’s cock burned into him, stretching him, rubbing against his sensitive insides. Harry _loved_ it, loved him.

Finally, Draco was as deep as he could go, and Harry draped his legs across his shoulders. “Oh Draco, yes,” he breathed. His orgasm was close again, he could feel it. But this was so delicious, hovering here on the edge; he could enjoy this for a while.

Draco leaned down and kissed him, moaning into Harry’s mouth. As their tongues slid together, Draco began slowly to move. “Fuck, you feel good,” Draco mumbled against Harry’s lips.

“So do you,” Harry agreed. “God, I can feel you...” Harry closed his eyes and focused on feeling Draco’s cock sliding in and out, grazing every now and then across his prostate, the way his muscles clenched around it, not wanting it to withdraw. He could feel the pleasure building up again slowly, waves of sensation beginning to radiate out from his prostate.

And then Draco shifted, and his cock hit Harry’s prostate head on. Harry knew then that he was lost. He cried out, bucked, writhed, and arched beneath Draco, coming completely undone.

“Yes, Harry, yes, fall apart for me,” Draco said. He continued his rhythm, continuing to batter Harry in exactly the right spot.

Harry could tell that this was going to be intense. The orgasm was building from deep inside him, not coming from his untouched cock, but deeper. And then it was there, crashing through him in waves. His body flopped about helplessly as he rode it out, Draco’s continued strokes against his prostate drawing it out longer than anything he’d ever experienced before. He barely registered that he was growling and screaming, but he couldn’t care. His cock ejaculated an obscene amount of come onto his stomach and chest.

Draco began thrusting faster, grunting his pleasure. “Fuck, Harry!” he gasped. 

Harry could hardly think with the aftershocks, but he knew that he wanted Draco to come, too. “Come for me, Draco,” he said, and watched with joy as Draco’s face screwed up in bliss as he erupted into Harry with a cry of completion. Harry could feel Draco’s body shuddering in tandem with his own.

Harry's legs fell to the bed, and Draco collapsed on top of him, breathing heavily.

Neither of them moved for a long few minutes. Harry’s body was still feeling tingly and over-sensitive, but he loved Draco’s weight on him, breathing with him.

“Holy fucking hell,” Draco said.

Harry chuckled. “That’s an understatement.”

Draco lifted his head up and looked at Harry. “You are bloody amazing, love,” he said.

“And you’re brilliant,” Harry retorted.

They both broke into laughter then, and Draco rolled off of Harry, disconnecting them. Harry followed him, and they spent another languid several minutes snogging gently.

“I think I need to clean up,” Harry said after a moment. “I’m covered in come.”

Draco looked down at the patches of goo on his own chest and grimaced. “Me, too. Should we shower this time?”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “And then we should probably eat something besides each other.” One hunger sated, Harry could feel his stomach rumbling.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Draco said.

  
**::**  


“You’re glowing again, mate,” Ron grumbled good-naturedly.

Harry looked up from his paperwork, distracted. “What was that?” he asked.

Ron just stared at him. “You’re not even working, are you? You’re just sitting there, thinking about Malfoy.”

Harry blushed. “Am not.”

“Are too,” Ron retorted. “You haven’t written a thing in fifteen minutes. You’re just sitting there, pretending to work, and projecting that ‘night of brilliant shagging’ glow all over the room. I’m amazed I’m not blinded from it yet, after seeing it all week.”

Harry blushed even harder. It was true—the past week had been a blur of sucking, fucking, and talking—when they weren't working, anyway. It was blissful, and Harry had been walking around with the most profound high he’d ever experienced. He couldn’t help but smile at Ron. “That's rich, coming from you, mate,” Harry retorted playfully. “After what I went through while you and Hermione got your act together, you bloody well owe me some slack.” Ron had been unbearable after he and Hermione finally, officially became a couple, after the aftermath of the final battle. The git had not shut his gob about her for days on end. It had been a way for him to keep his mind off of losing Fred, but still. Harry loved Hermione, but he never again needed to know just how beautiful she was in bed. Harry shuddered a little at the memory.

Ron stared at him for another moment, then grinned back at him. “Fair enough. Still can’t believe you picked Malfoy, though. If someone had told me back in school that you and Malfoy would be shagging like bunnies, I would have escorted them to St. Mungo’s to check for spell damage.”

“It’s funny the way life works out, isn't it?” Harry smirked.

“There! See, already you're picking up his habits! You never used to smirk like that!”

Harry just grinned and restrained from extolling how Draco’s smirk sent his blood straight to his groin.

“So what are you and Malfoy going to do?” Ron asked. “Move in together?”

“Not right away, but yeah, eventually,” Harry answered. “We’re going spend more time getting to know each other, and to adjust to not being partners anymore.” Now that Ron was back from Australia—he’d decided to stay in England and help with the investigation into the Black Knights rather than go back to Australia for a couple of weeks—he had re-assumed his place as Harry’s partner. Draco and Williamson had been assigned together, and so far they seemed to be working well together. Harry missed spending his day with Draco, but Lashley did have a very good point—it was not wise to be romantically involved with one’s partner. The last thing they needed was for them to be more focused on protecting each other than doing their jobs. At least Harry and Draco still worked in the same department, so they did see each other throughout the day.

“Think you might eventually get married?” Ron asked.

Harry grinned, elation bubbling up inside him. “It’s a bit early yet to be thinking of that, but yes, it is definitely possible. We both want this relationship to work, so we’re going to take our time and do it right.” Harry knew in his soul that he would spend the rest of his life with Draco, and he’d never before felt so grounded and elated at the same time.

Ron grinned at him. “I’m glad. As much as I hate to say it, he suits you. It’s good to see you happy.”

“Thanks, Ron.” Harry smiled at his best friend. “I am happy.”

At that moment, the door opened to reveal his lover leaning up against the frame. “Good afternoon Harry, Weasley,” he said, grinning smugly. He looked supremely self satisfied, his eyes glittering.

“See?!” Ron said to Harry, pointing at Draco. “He’s glowing, too! The two of you are a right hazard on the eyes!”

“I assure you, Weasley,” Draco drawled, “that my ‘glowing,’ as you called it, has nothing to do with our spectacular sex life.” He leered at Harry. “Though I do feel in the mood for a celebratory shag.”

Harry’s heart leapt. “Did you figure it out?”

Draco nodded. “It was the aconite that gave me the clue, because aconite wasn’t part of the original recipe, and it is an ingredient in the Wolfsbane potion, which has to be brewed on a lunar schedule. At first I thought it was added merely because it is poisonous, which adds to the potion’s toxicity, but then I realised that it is related to the phases of the moon. Lestrange used lunar theory and magic to create a physical change in the body—it’s similar in theory to the werewolf transformation. Instead of the magic causing the flesh to transform into a beast for one night, it causes the flesh to repel magic for one night. All of the stages of the brewing occur on the lunar cycle. Once it’s complete, it can be used any time, but it takes two full lunar cycles to brew.”

“Do you know how to counter it?” Ron asked eagerly. Draco had been working with the Department of Potion Development and Regulation and the Unspeakables on the tiny sample of the Locusta’s Shield potion they had managed to salvage from Rowle’s bottle. They had been trying to figure out how it was made for nearly a week. The Aurors had tracked Lestrange down and were monitoring his movements, but they were waiting to move on him until they were able to counter the Locusta’s Shield. Everyone in the department was anxiously waiting for it.

Again, Draco nodded, smirking. “It will take some work to perfect it, but the mystery of Locusta’s Shield has been solved. I expect we’ll have the counter ready for testing within a month, due to the lunar magic. So we won’t be able to go after him immediately, but then he’ll probably get complacent and think he’s lost us.”

“That’s brilliant!” Harry stood up and went to congratulate his lover.

“I know.” Draco beamed.

Harry laughed. “Prat,” he said, then kissed Draco soundly to prevent his retort.

“Aaargh, my eyes!” Ron moaned. “You two are unbearable, you are.”

Draco snickered. Ignoring Ron, he whispered to Harry. “Have you had lunch yet?”

“I had a sandwich at my desk while I was doing paperwork,” Harry answered, knowing exactly where Draco was going with this—he could feel Draco’s arousal pressing against his hip.

“Good, then I can take you home and fuck you on the kitchen table without having to worry about food,” Draco said softly into Harry’s ear, making him shiver. He pictured himself bending over the table while Draco pounded into him from behind and was instantly hard.

“Ron, I’m going to take a late lunch,” Harry said, eyes not leaving Draco’s.

“Right, lunch,” Ron snorted. “So much for not being distracted by sex on the job, Harry.”

Harry blushed and dropped his forehead onto Draco’s shoulder. “Shut it,” he mumbled.

“Fine,” Ron said, laughing. “You’re on lunch. That’s what I’ll tell Lashley when he asks for you in a couple of hours.”

“Thanks, Ron,” Harry said sincerely.

“Go, I’ll see you later.” Ron rolled his eyes and waved his hands at them to shoo.

“Race you to the Floo,” he said, and he and Draco both dashed towards the Auror fireplaces.

“Randy gits!” Ron called after them. 

Harry laughed, his heart soaring.

  
_fin_  



End file.
